The Deepest Circle
by Daemon faerie queen
Summary: Forced against her will into mutiny by the vile Captain Barbossa and being hunted down by Captain Jack Sparrow, what hope did she have? A tale of vengeance, guilt and ethereal peril. Riddled with suspense and fluctuating romance. P&P of the Caribbean?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Redrafted and improved edit. Jade and Tam are owned by RaggyDollPirate, and I have had the privilege to write them into my stories. My apologies to Surreal, Jezibelle and Grath whose characters I have had to alter or edit out entirely for the benefit of new readers. The name Grath credited to... Grath/Xhavek. _

_Dedication: From one Cap'n t' another. (Since the update, from a Captain to an Admiral/Minister of War)  
_

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* * *

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The journey was becoming as taxing as the rest. Unable to stand the constant squabbling between two men of equal rank on the main deck, Jade had retired to the officers' quarters. It was a place almost guaranteed to be empty, the last first mate to have resided here not having been seen for at least a year. She had never met him, but what she had gleaned of old Joshamee was that he had been a decent sort for a pirate, and one she might have gladly referred to as an uncle.

Here, in the quietude, she could escape the childish tussles played out by Captains Barbossa and Sparrow over the command of the galleon to which they both laid a claim. Back and forth across the Atlantic they had crossed, stocking in Europe and the West Indies whenever their luck with seizing merchant vessels waned. Her mystified past left her with a blank space with regard to her fate and so she had remained aboard the _Black Pearl_, caring naught for the destination and even less for the sordid missions that occurred between.

Jade lay on the bunk, the blue bandanna that normally checked her long dark hair pulled down to mask her eyes, her trimly cut frockcoat swathed about her for warmth. She was a young woman in her early twenties, but acted a decade more youthful. This trait only added to her unease. Every so often she stirred at the sound of footsteps telling of crewmembers rounding the stairs outside that led through the decks. The noises sometimes made her flinch and she took consolation that she had locked the door. It was not that anyone had tried to attack her on board, but spirits were running high and thin with the uncertainty of authority. Suroki's departure had made things worse.

Suroki Zheng, a hot-blooded woman of the East, an assassin by trade, had kept nigh on every man in line. She was beautiful and fiercely loyal, capturing the wandering eye with every move she made. Yet one wrong word, a misplaced glance, and she could smash a nose into deck-boards with a glare. Only a few men dared to coquet her on repeat occasions. Captain Sparrow was one of them.

Jade was unsure if she wanted that kind of power. Without the assassin's presence, however, she could sense the primal instincts of her opposing gender crawling to the surface. When Suroki had left, reunited with her flagship – _The Laohu_ – she had taken with her Shade Freeta, another strong-willed woman who had helped mask any unwanted attentions that drifted Jade's way. Now the only other woman – in the loosest terms – aboard was Tam, and not even wandering gazes would meet hers. Not unless they wished to lose something vital.

And then there was Jack. Her history with Captain Sparrow, though mostly without any romance to speak of, formed a kind of unspoken barrier between her and the rest of the crew. With him in sight, no one had uttered so much as a filthy suggestion to her, as though some territory had been established. He was not particularly strong in build and was not much taller than her five-foot-one-inch height, his disposition flighty and mischievous, harmless even, but still something kept the other pirates at bay. It did not seem as simple as respect, and it made Jade feel trapped.

Even that protection was dwindling now that Barbossa had turned up. After days of unease where people had sworn blindly that the old West-Countryman had been slain for mutiny by Jack himself, doubt for Jack's deeds was rife and no one knew whom they wanted as captain. So now they both were, and Sparrow's usually unpredictable nature had become petty idiocy. The two of them were probably measuring their spyglasses again.

Jade rolled over, dozily, and was started into wakefulness by a rapping at the door.

"Miss Jade, are you in there?" hissed a voice.

She clambered slowly out of the bunk, readjusted her headscarf, and trudged towards the door, fumbling for the key in her pocket. "Wha'izzit, Grath?" She unlocked the door and opened it, looking up into the strange face of Samuel Grath. He made an imposing sight, a large man with a squat, puggish face, the closest and perhaps only friend that the volatile Tam had. Although she could not help but be a little repulsed by him, Jade felt him to be a gentle and honourable creature.

"Sorry to disturb you. Seems we're having a crew-wide vote to choose between our two captains."

The young woman rolled her eyes. "It's taken 'em this long t' get round t' that?"

Grath shrugged. "Their politics."

"So how's it playin' out then? Show of hands, that sort o' thin'?" Jade grumbled, pushing through a tangle in her hair with a pained expression.

"There's a ballot box which'll be counted tomorrow morning when everyone's had a chance to make a decision."

"Oh no," she groaned.

"Something wrong? It's the fairest way."

Jade sighed and shook her head. "It en't fair in the least, f'r two good reasons. One bein', they're pirates. Wouldn' put it past either of 'em not t' rig the box any way they can. The second an' worst'f it is if there en't anythin' worse than those two at each other's throats, it's them bein' _nice _to everyone on board."

Grath blinked in response. Understanding was creeping in.

"F'r 'xample, 'ave either of them argued since the plan was announced?"

The stocky man frowned. "Actually, no. Well, not out loud anyway."

"Not out loud?"

Grath grinned. "They give each other amusing looks when they think no one is watching."

Jade groaned again. "Where's this box then?"

"Captain_s_' cabin," he replied, uncertainly.

She took in a deep breath, let out a sharp "Thank y'" and vacated the quarters.

* * *

She deeply regretted reaching topside. No sooner had she stepped on deck, she was like a gazelle to the lions. From either side of the bustling crowd that had amassed, two heads snapped up from their sweet-talking conversations and trained their eyes on her. Sparrow and Barbossa both bolted in her direction.

"F'r Christ's sake," Jade said through her teeth and darted over to the rigging. She was several feet up by the time the captains reached her. "Bugg'roff the both of yeh! I en't tellin' yer who I'm votin' f'r if I even have the mind to."

Jack put on his best dazzling grin. "You don't need to tell us, darlin'. I would've thought your choice obvious. A thousand thanks for your contribution."

Hector Barbossa pulled a face, his mouth twisting amid his grey beard. "Jack, why can't ye leave the lady alone? Can ye not show some courtesy?"

"Courtesy? You're the one chasin' 'er halfway up the mast!"

"I only came across ter make certain ye weren't tamperin' with our votes."

Jade glared at them. It hadn't taken long for the bickering to return.

"Gerraway from meh. I'll vote later when y'ain't about."

Barbossa made a curt smile, tipped his plumed hat and went on his way. Jack put his palms together in praising thanks, indicated swiftly to himself and slunk away to put the charm on some other victim.

She sagged in the ropes before making her way back down, purple boots carefully picking footholds. When she reached deck level, she almost bumped into a skulking figure.

"Oh, 'lo Tam," she said, trying to avoid the menacing glower of the older woman's eyes. Once she might have been normal, but the distant creature that stood before Jade now harboured the haunted look of one who had seen too many battles, and had had little of the solace of sharing her experience on account of her gender. "Wh-who y' votin' f'r?"

"Neither," Tam growled. "I don't trust either of those fools to run the ship. Barbossa's too ambitious, and Sparrow's a coward."

Jade bit her lip. "Not t' be rude, but why don't y' leave when we next make port?"

Tam shrugged. "When Grath decides where we want to get off, I will follow. Until then, we stay." She made to wander off but hesitated, forcing herself to show a shred of etiquette. "Good luck to him. Make your vote count."

Puzzled, Jade watched her meld into the crowd. Him? Was her choice so clear before she had even written it down? Wasn't Barbossa older and wiser? Perhaps even a better sailor? A sensible choice. A strong choice. But no, she was going to vote for Jack, wasn't she? The arrogant, smarmy twit who bounced from peril to peril with that stupid smile on his face. Because, despite all the trouble he had got her into, and had yet to cause, despite his lies, his bad habits, even the times he had nearly killed her…he was proof of a purpose without purpose. He had no aspirations but the impossible, and impossible yielded. He actually lived for the joy of living. The sly git was a breathing work of art whose only existence was aesthetic.

Barbossa was too ambitious.

The taste of blood brought Jade back from her thoughts. She had bitten her lip to breaking point. Wincing, she dismissed herself below.

* * *

She didn't know how long she had been asleep. The oil lamp had blown out and she had not the will to relight it. There had been a moment where she fancied she'd heard an odd scrabbling sound over near the desk but it was not repeated and so she had returned to the bunk.

Jade cursed. Was it too late to put in her vote? She made to move the blanket that formed her covers, but was startled when a lantern flared up in a corner of the room.

"Good evenin' to ye, Miss Starfall." Captain Barbossa was slouched in a chair beside the writing desk.

The name she had chosen in a sickening moment of pre-pubescence sounded even more cliché upon his tongue, but the thought paled in the moment. Her back pressed against the wall, fully alert, Jade stammered, "Wha're you doin' in 'ere? How -?"

A screeching sound came from the shadows of the floor. Barbossa's pet monkey, ironically named Jack, leapt onto the desk to sit beside his master. He nibbled at the key – her key – in between his paws.

"I have me ways as ye can see. Why I'm here is for ye to grant me with a mite o' help as it were."

She furrowed her brow at him, keeping her knees tucked up to her chest. "If this is about the ballot, I en't bein' pushed inter votin'. An' if I reported y' f'r bribery or blackmail, the vote wouldn' count in any case."

Barbossa smiled. "I'm surprised ye think I'd stoop so low, m'lady. Besides, I want ye to vote for Jack."

She was struck dumb for a few moments.

"What?"

"Aye, in fact, I want ye to _tell _him so, too. Tell 'im the whole crew, barrin' meself have voted for 'im."

Jade narrowed her eyes. "What's y' game, Barbossa?"

"Why, a winnin' game o' course."

"But if -."

The old captain cut her off. "Ye will go to Jack and tell him of his success, an' then ye'll celebrate however ye see fit." His eyes twinkled horribly. "Meanwhile, ye will ply him with a specially-prepared bev'rage -."

"Y' want meh to poison 'im!" Jade scoffed.

"Ah no, miss, there be no fair play in that. It be naught but a simple sleepin' draught is all."

Confused, the young woman remarked, "But it makes no diff'rence if he sleeps through the drawing from the boxes. T'won't change the results."

Barbossa grinned, revealing rotten yellow teeth. "Perhaps not, but I daresay if no one can be findin' our dear newly-appointed Cap'n on board at the very time of his appointment…it might call fer a recount."

Jade scowled. "An' yeh think I'd do some'at like this f'r _you_?"

"Better. I _know _ye will."

He lifted something that rested in his palm. It looked like a snuffbox, round, with intricate designs engraved on its surface. Barbossa pulled at the top of the box, as though removing a lid but, instead of coming off completely, it extended like a collapsible spyglass. He twizzled it this way and that until finally a small, cog-like wheel emerged from inside the device. He turned it.

Pain. Searing, white-hot pain burst through her chest. Something was wrong, very wrong. It was like having a corset laced beyond too tightly about her, and yet it was past being skin deep. Jade yelped. Barbossa turned the wheel back again and released her.

"'Tis a remarkably discreet device, the Mixtec Tunic, packed full o' yer mystic voodoo expectations, with all the brutality of yer old Dark Age torture implements. Too many turns o' the wheel, Miss Starfall, and the contractions will be sufficient ter impale yer vitals under the weight of a shattered ribcage."

Gasping for air, Jade choked out, "Have yeh not learned the cons'quences 'f mutiny? Jack'll only come back an' kill yeh again!"

"Not me, m'lady. Ye'll be the one ter blame, an' don't ye go thinkin' ol' Jack will go easy on ye in spite o' yer gender. He follows the Code. He 'as ter follow the Code."

Tears of pain glazed the young woman's eyes. "I'll tell 'im then. Even if 's after I give 'im the drink."

Barbossa laughed eerily. "Did I forget ter mention that if ye tell anyone about the Tunic it automatically tightens without anyone about ter stop it? What a blunder that'd be. Now be a good little lady and come on over here so I can give ye the necessary ingredients. Quickly now." His hand hovered over the wheel of the remote device.

Defeated, Jade got up and, glowering, moved towards him. Jack the monkey chattered, biting harder upon the key to her door.

"Put three drops o' this into a good-sized bottle o' Sparrow's preference," Barbossa instructed, holding out a tiny vial of dark liquid. "Then all ye need do is make sure he drinks it. Oh and ye'll be needin' the key to the stores as well." This he also revealed.

Reluctantly, she reached for the items. The old pirate's hand clamped about her wrist. She winced then bared her teeth in a hateful snarl.

"Tell me, Miss Starfall, be it your intention to turn noble and sacrifice yerself fer the likes of our friend Jack? Were that the case I'd shoot yer now and save ye the sufferin'. I'm not without me sense of mercy."

"I'll do it," she said, sourly. "But if he doesn' trust meh? If he doesn' drink it?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes. "Jack Sparrow would dip his tongue in arsenic if ye put it in the right bottle. He'll drink it." He released her wrist and placed the vial and key into her palm. "Off with yer now."

She stepped back, clasping the instruments of her upcoming crime to her, frowning with suspicion.

The old captain sighed. "Is there somethin' the matter, miss?"

"That's all y' want?"

"Aye, that be all." He smirked. "What? Did ye think that I wanted ye for somethin' more, m'lady?" Again he flashed his foul teeth. "I prefer blondes."

Jade flushed, snatched the key from the monkey on the desk and fled from the room, Hector's laughter sounding at her back.

* * *

Having vented as much frustration as her aching feet would allow against some by-standing barrels, Jade trudged up from the ship's cellar with two full bottles of rum, one hand becoming clammy on the neck of the one she had spoiled. As she ascended to the main deck she attempted to tidy her bed-knotted hair but only succeeded in smoothing the surface. She dusted off her dark green coat, buying herself time for a breath of salty night air, and knocked on the Captain's cabin doors.

"Aye?"

She slipped inside and closed the doors behind her. Jack was sitting at his desk, plotting out courses with the aid of his unique compass. He was at his ease, his tri-cornered hat settled on the desk, his formal coat draped from a peg on the cabin wall. He glanced up to see the young woman enter the room and noted that she put on the latch.

"Ms Starfall. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He looked briefly to his compass. The needle had started to move. He raised an eyebrow at it before pushing the lid closed with one finger. "Come to cast your vote, perhaps?"

"Already did," she said, approaching slowly.

"Really?" He leaned back in the chair, greedily watching the bottles that had now caught his attention. "And your conclusion?"

Jade forced a smile and placed the mutinous vessel upon the desk. "Who d'yer think?" She uncorked her own bottle and took a draught, trying not to cough at the shock of it burning her throat.

Sparrow grinned. "I knew it." He snatched up the offered rum bottle and shifted the chair back in order to get to his feet. Sauntering over to his bunk, he gestured for her to be seated beside him. She returned his smirking expression, hating herself for playing the part, almost hating Jack for making it so easy.

_Why aren't you questioning me? Isn't it strikingly convenient? Are you really so conceited as to think that I would just offer myself on a platter to you? Apparently…_

Of course he wasn't unattractive. The man had a whole fanbase of whores in every disreputable port of the New and Old World alike. Odour aside, Jack Sparrow was famed for his bizarre beauty and quick-witted charm. The problem was, he knew it.

Jade perched upon the edge of his bunk and swallowed a huge mouthful of the potent liquor. It made her eyes water. Jack smiled slyly and shifted closer to her, uncorking his bottle and raising it as if in admiration.

"What, may I enquire, is the occasion?"

_Bugger, here we go. _"Winnin' the ballot," she answered.

"Ah, but the votes have not yet been counted."

"They don't have t' be. I know 's you. Couldn' be…anyone else." She could not bring herself to look him in the eyes.

"Couldn't 'ave said it better meself, love." He clinked his bottle with hers and took a swig.

"No!" Jade blurted, but trailed off when he turned to her, bewildered. "No," she repeated, turning dejection into another feigned smile. "Y' couldn'."

Jack's arm snaked about her. They drank in silence for a few awkward minutes. She was already feeling light-headed.

"Y' got any plans f'r when you're prop'ly the Cap'n again?"

"Plot a course for preferable waters I suppose. Oh, and appoint a first mate until we can locate Mr Gibbs. I know one thing for certain, it won't be Barbossa."

Jade ground her teeth. "I hate 'im. I wish 'e was dead."

Sparrow looked at her with a surprised sense of amusement. "He was once."

"Then why couldn' 'e stay dead like everyone else?" she whined.

He smiled and watched her lift her bottle to her lips, his ringed fingers tickling her neck just below her right ear. "Easy, miss. You didn't come 'ere just to slander ol' Hector, did you?" It was not so much a question as a statement.

Jade shook her head anyway, keeping her eyes averted. He leaned in closer. The power of his scent combined with the rum made her head swim.

"Anything you might be wantin' to tell me?" The smug smile on his face was unbearable. Now she felt ill. Why couldn't it be over already?

Jack grinned with an air of victory. "It finally 'appened, didn't it?"

She blinked. "Eh?"

"Took you long enough, and an admirable amount of resistance, but I always knew you'd succumb sooner or later."

Jade felt an angry flush burn her cheeks despite the bait act she was supposed to be performing. She got up to move away but the effects of her inebriation threw her back down again. Jack hushed her patronisingly and scooped her legs onto the bunk so that she lay down. He lounged alongside her, resting on his elbow, eyes conspicuously roaming over her form. She trembled.

_Pass out, damn you. Before I lose any more respect for the both of us._

He gulped a considerable amount of rum then he plucked hers from her hand and placed the bottles on the floor. His right arm wound beneath her shoulders, drawing her to him. His face buried into her hair, his movements becoming lethargic. She shivered at his breath on her neck.

Jade froze as she felt his other hand touch the soft skin of her stomach. His formidably deft fingers had unhooked her buttons without a trace. His palm slid slowly upwards. Petrified, she began to worry that the potion would do nothing.

_Oh Christ, sleep! Sleep! If he goes any further, I'll have to kick him where it hurts._

Jack raised his head and looked at her with a wanton grin, eyelids drooped wickedly.

"Jack…" Her heart pounded. She was Red Riding Hood. He was the wolf. So close now, his beard braids were like twin scorpion tails.

"Mm?"

"'m…"

Jack fell limp, his waking functions shut down; his left hand poised an inch below the rise of her chest.

"…sorry."

Jade choked out a sob. Then, furious with herself and the unconscious pirate, she shoved him aside and wobbled to her feet. Sufficiently balanced, she rounded on him.

"Y' stupid bastard! Why'd yer have t' trust meh? Izzat all it takes t' defeat Cap'n Jack Sparrow? That -," she pointed to the half-empty bottles, "an' _this_?" She indicated grabbing herself inappropriately. "Y' should be dead ten times over!" Jade growled and kicked the bottles across the floor, upsetting the contents.

Her fury gave way to anxiety and she stumbled over to him, rolling him onto his back. Good, he was still breathing. Barbossa had kept his word so far. There was a bittersweetness to seeing Jack so peaceful, vulnerable, a tiny bird fallen from its perch into helplessness. Absently, Jade brushed his dreadlocks from his face and positioned the Moroccan beads on his bandanna neatly in line. At a loss for what else to do, she wandered in agitation about the room.

Her gaze alighted upon his compass upon the desk. So few knew of its abilities, of how valuable and powerful it was, dangerous even, in the wrong hands. To point the way to what the holder wants more than anything else. Jade took it from the desk and unclasped the lid, demanding an answer from the slowly churning needle. Several minutes passed and it refused to choose a direction. She slouched despairingly and pocketed the instrument.

Next she observed Jack's hat. She had travelled with him long enough to know how much he treasured it, how he loathed to be without it, and how much a part of him it had become. If Barbossa was going to force her to rid the ship of Captain Sparrow she would make damned sure he made no profit. She picked up the tricorne in an apologetic manner and slid it behind a cabinet at the side of the room.

Now what should she do? It was an assumption that Barbossa would not approach to see if her task had been carried out lest he disturb the plan in action, or otherwise. Yet, out of fear and guilt, she was unwilling to leave Jack. She looked at the prone form upon the bunk, suddenly contemplating the next part of his fate. Barbossa did intend to let him live, didn't he? He wouldn't just cast him to the waves…would he? Jade's throat tightened.

_What have I done?_

Hand straying to the white-bladed knife at her belt, she turned away from Jack and made for the door. She removed the latch and quietly peered out across the deck.

He was there. Lurking about the mainmast, the shadowy growth of the monkey on his shoulder, Barbossa was waiting, feigning showing an interest in the roll of the dark waves. She cast one glance back inside to the eerily peaceful Sparrow before slipping out of the door and closing it at her back.

"It be done, Miss Starfall?" the old pirate asked, still watching the sea.

"Aye. He's out." Swallowing at the bitter taste on her tongue, she stared at him defiantly. "So what now? Yeh had best say we're puttin' him in a longboat, or -."

Barbossa turned. "Or what, miss? Can it be ye're feelin' sorry fer ol' Sparrow?" His eyes strayed to the fluttering openness of her shirt, and then caught sight of her fingers tapping the dagger hilt. He smiled maliciously. "Such the gentleman he be."

Jade looked down, noticing the buttons she had neglected. She reddened and shoved a button of her frockcoat into its eyelet to cover the shirt and the laced revelation of undergarment.

"Fret not yer pretty little head, m'lady. A suitable carriage fer Jack be waitin' below." He gestured over the rails.

She peered over to see a markedly battered rowboat bobbing alongside the _Black Pearl_. It had no oars, and looked like –

"It wouldn' last a day!" Jade bared her teeth at Barbossa, knife half-drawn.

"Actually, 'twouldn't last half a day, but there be plenty o' quays and tropical-climated isles hereabouts. I daresay he'll have the sense ter rouse himself before he reaches one if he be unfortunate enough for the tides not to cast him ashore."

Shaking, she shot him an arctic glare. "Y'ain't fit fer the company 'f bilge scum."

Barbossa placed a condescending hand upon her back. "If ye want to talk like a vagabond…" He grasped the hair at the back of her head and wrenched. The monkey bounced upon his shoulders, screeching. "As the one and only Captain I'll make it me duty ter treat ye accordin'ly." Jade gasped in pain, helpless as he relieved her of her weapon and let it drop to the boards. "Now, be a good little lady and help me unload our unwanted cargo."

She was released. Furious and despondent, she led the way to the cabin. The dead weight of Captain Sparrow was soon handled across the deck. Had Jade not been so distraught, she might have noticed how Barbossa did most of the lifting. Numbly, her gaze followed as Jack was lowered into the longboat with aid of a few lengths of rope. Before it was to be cast off, a thought struck her. She dashed back into the cabin and returned with Jack's coat in her arms. Rushing to the side and hoping it was not too late, she hurled the bundle into the boat beside the huddled form.

Barbossa raised a nonchalant eyebrow.

"'Case 'e gets cold or some'at," she mumbled.

She did not want to see; the rope was cut loose and the little boat began to drift, but her gaze could not be torn away. The taint of alcohol turned her queasy and she darted for the side, her hands gripped upon the rails to steady herself. Battling with nausea, she clung to the vain hope that Jack would find the compass she had slipped into the pocket of his coat, that it might somehow spare him from a worse fate and, more importantly, spare _her _from his vengeance.

Jade watched wretchedly as the rickety craft and its inert passenger disappeared into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three months later…_

She wandered the dark market streets of St. Kitts, a coarse sack slung over one shoulder. The town was quiet compared to the bawdier French colonies, which, although spared her being accosted by drunks or thieves, only served to deepen the sense of being alone with nothing but her demons. Disheartened green eyes tracked footfalls on the cobbles beneath, every so often looking up at the passing houses and shuttered shops.

It had to be somewhere around here.

Weary and hungry, Jade sought out every corner until at last she stumbled upon the run-down form of _The Three-Legged Dog_. Lanterns glimmered above its peeling window-frames. The inn's sign hung askew. The inside was in little better condition, with splintered tables and mostly rags rather than cushions decorating the chairs and walls. Limbs aching, she dragged herself to the bar and strained to climb upon a stool.

A weedy man with thick grey sideburns came out from an archway at the back of the bar and jerked his head at her in a disgruntled way of questioning. She placed a few coins upon the counter and mumbled her request, which he gave with no quarrel. Despite being parched, she merely stared in a trance of numbness at the thin layer of froth upon the only drink she could afford.

"I wouldn't want to drink that if I were you."

Jade almost leapt to hug the owner of the voice. Its soft kindness and strength made her want to give in to her body's plea for collapse, finally safe. She turned to face Grath and offered him a weak smile.

"I didn't know yeh'd still be here," she said. "Thought I'd taken too long."

The ogrish man shook his head. "We made a promise to meet you here. I stayed as long as necessary."

She trembled, forcing back the constant and overwhelming guilt. "And Tam?"

"The hour is late. She is sleeping but she's here also, aye. Don't worry. We do not have plans to leave in the immediate future. Whatever anyone says, I believe you have good reason, if misguided, for what went on at sea. Perhaps sometime you would explain it, but for the time being, go upstairz and rest. I'll cover your board."

Clutching her sack of belongings to her Jade slowly stood, abandoning her drink, and nodded humbly to Samuel.

"I will see that food is brought up. Sleep well, miss."

"Thank y'," she murmured. She located the steps that led to the upper level and trudged in search of lodging.

* * *

The rooms were surprisingly more than she had anticipated for the inn. Whilst the wood panelling of the outside hallway was scarred and rotten and the ceilings yellowed with old pipe smoke, the small room she chose was neat and not very dusty. Having bolted the door she sat, drained, upon the scratchy bed with her belonging sack. She wanted for nothing from it, what little food and drink it offered, a few spare clothes and sentimental accessories she had always had, but the one thing that was not hers pestered to be brought out into the open. Keeping it in the sack was like concealing a dead man. Unable to withstand the tugging, the young woman pulled apart the sack's mouth and withdrew the item in question.

Jack's tricorne.

For several hours, Jade sat in the same cross-legged position. So tired yet caring little for sleep, she stared numbly at the hat in her hands. She had been waiting to escape the _Pearl _for so long and now that she had the true privacy she had craved, she was not sure if she dared to let her thoughts wander. It was not her fault. She told herself over and over in the hope that it would sink in, but guilt prevailed. Had it really been worth saving herself only to live with the fear that she had caused a man's death? Jack had almost been a friend, at least, he brought his strange manner to a level that she could understand and, putting aside the frequent bouts of flirtation he had bestowed, he had not treated her as horseflesh. As her mind drifted she realised her anger towards him. Why had he allowed someone so hostile on board? No…that was a foolish question to ask a pirate. Why hadn't Jack been prepared for something like this?

_Yeh should've told 'im._

I couldn'. The Tunic…

_Not about that. Jes' about the rum. Could've told 'im Barbossa made yeh do it._

He would've asked meh why I hadn' said no!

_Yeh could've talked around it. Jack was smart, he could've found a way t' help yeh. Now yeh've gone an' killed 'im._

Jade's stomach knotted, the back of her throat felt tight but she did not cry. She set the hat on the bedside table and clambered into the tatty bed, still clothed. She drew the covers up to her face and fled into the comfort of sleep.

It was barely even dawn when she awoke, troubled by dreams that terrified her but became stupid the moment she was conscious. Dreams of the dratted monkey pursuing her tirelessly, gnashing sharp teeth, and a dream that Jack had faked his stupor and helped her to revolt against Barbossa, which was all fine and dandy until the old captain set off the Tunic device at the last moment. She had woken gasping for breath.

Jade pushed the covers from her and sat up. She bunched her knees up to her chest and shivered, feeling the chill from the drafty window. Her eye-line drifted groggily to the bedside table. Her heart leapt to her throat.

The hat was gone.

Jade jumped out of bed and dashed out into the corridor. She knocked on the door to Grath's room and hissed his name, desperate for protective company. There was no reply. She knocked a few more times and then tried the handle.

The next door along opened, startling her. Tam stepped out, her usual unimpressed expression on show.

"Grath is not here. He left early to start work at the smith. What do you want?"

Jade fiddled with her fingers. "I-I was jes' wond'rin' if anyone was in m' room las' night?"

"Of course," said Tam.

"There was? Who?"

"You."

"That en't funny," Jade replied sourly.

"It was not meant to be. I was stating fact."

Jade ground her teeth. "There was a hat in my room an' now 's gone. I wanted t' know if either of yeh 'ad taken it f'r some reas'n."

"If it wasn't yours, does it matter?"

A pause. "It was Jack's."

Tam snorted and gave the girl a sneer of disgust. Jade narrowed her eyes and stared back defiantly at the spiteful woman. Eventually, Tam relented.

"If it was Sparrow himself who had asked I would take pleasure in doing nothing, but since we have agreed to give you some shelter, and if it would absolve me of blame for theft, I will go and look. Stay here."

Jade waited in Tam's room, chiding herself for fearing shadows. She walked quietly to the window and looked out across the town. The view was not as pleasant as her sea-scape room had been. This one was merely a collection of back alleys, a few palm trees and inoperative market stalls. She sighed, drummed her fingers at her sides and wandered to and fro. What was keeping Tam? She waited and waited until at least half an hour had passed. Nervous and annoyed, she could stand the idleness no longer and crept back towards her room.

"Tam?" she whispered.

Dawn was starting to creep over the horizon, glinting off the bay. The ragged curtains fluttered at the open window. As she had suspected, the room was empty. Great. Just great. Tam had just left her. Probably the moment she had mentioned Jack and got her hackles up, the stubborn bitch had resolved to let her deal with the situation. Anger overriding her fear, Jade strode over to the window and slammed it shut.

_Maybe she 'did' take it and made a run f'r it_, she thought. _What else could it be? 'S only a hat… What was it I was afraid of? 'S not as though he's comin' ba-_

A hand clamped over her mouth at the same instant that an arm wrapped tight against her waist. Instinctively she tried to bite and kick, but the grip was too strong. In the next instant she was thrown like a doll onto the bed and the click of a flintlock sounded at her back. Jade rolled over to look her attacker in the face.

"Jack! Yeh're alive!"

The morning's birth of sunlight peeled vision over pieces of his shadowy form. His clothing, renowned across the oceans, was grimy and torn – torn in such a manner that, whilst it appeared to be in tatters, his skin was still not on display. His frockcoat was absent. One of the strings of beads in his hair had gone and his face seemed paler. The eyes that had, on more than one occasion, intrigued her regarded her with a callousness that made her shiver. He stood, unmoving, his pistol trained at her head. His hat had returned to its rightful place.

"Is that so surprising?" he said. "Have people not learned when they leave me be'ind, I always come back?"

Jade noticed the octagonal black box at his belt. "Yeh found y' compass," she uttered quietly. "I hoped yeh would."

He stared at her in an unnerving silence. Why was he being so cold? Hadn't he just said this had happened to him before? It hadn't altered his cheerful, carefree demeanour then, so what had happened now?

"Jack, I -."

"You tried to kill me."

She couldn't bear the thought of making excuses. Guilt and shame were too busy fighting one another. Pride and anger refused to let her beg for mercy. Miss Starfall had the unfortunate curse of being stubborn out of fear.

"Yeh shouldn've fallen f'r the ruse. I thought yeh were cleverer'n that. Yeh shouldn've proved meh wrong."

Jack stepped closer, the pistol barrel still aimed between her eyes. "Genius pales before temptation."

Jade clambered backwards on the bed in slow movements. "Yeh really thought that I wanted -."

"Here nor there, love," he cut in. "You performed an act of mutiny against a pirate captain, against a _Lord of the Brethren Court_, which means, darlin', regardless of what it might grieve the two of us, I 'ave to follow the Code. If I am not seen to be following at least the bare skeleton of those rules I 'ave no place amongst free men. I 'ave no quarrel with humiliation, but one of a pirate's greatest acts of propaganda is fear. I can't be 'aving with the world sayin' Captain Jack Sparrow lives on empty threats. As far as mutiny goes, I make no exceptions." The faintest trace of remorse swept across his eyes and vanished. "I'm sorry."

Jade's throat went dry. A part of her wanted to laugh hysterically. To have her life taken by Jack Sparrow, the most docile pirate she had ever heard of, an amiable happy-go-lucky sot who was famed for avoiding conflict and fleeing his worries? She had never seen him look so terrifying - except that once. The desperate adrenaline for survival kicked in and buttered her face with a smile so innocent it would have made a gentleman swoon. With an air of futility she edged back to the end of the bed, sitting only a foot away from him.

"Jack…yeh can' shoot me…"

If there had been any internal struggle, he fought it well. There was a distance to his gaze, something hollow. The mouth of the pistol pressed against her forehead.

"We've been through a lot, young missy. For what it's worth, it pains me to 'ave to do this. Do you 'ave any final words?"

She could see there was nothing in the Sparrow she had known that could be coaxed out of this execution without trial. It took all her concentration to reign in her fearful rage that threatened to yell at him to get on with it, to bring about her deserving fate. Merely a split-second before the Captain had decided that Jade was to say nothing, as his finger drifted for the trigger, her mind hurled to her tongue the only thing she could think of to save her. Playing by his rules. Just the one word, that came out in a whisper before an apocalypse.

"Parlay."


	3. Chapter 3

Jade felt the pistol pull away and heard it slide into its holster. It was only then that she realised that her eyes had been closed. She could not help a small gasp of relief escape her lips. She opened her eyes. Jack stood there still, his face as grim as before. She found herself wishing she could see that infamous smile appear, for him to say that he had only been testing her, to say that he understood her reason for mutiny – but he did not even know why she had done it.

"To what purpose would you wish to be granted 'Parlay'?" he asked. "Here the captain of the opposing party already stands."

Jade swallowed and got to her feet. "Yeh have t' hear m' terms. 'S the rules."

Sparrow nodded. "Carry on."

Trying to find the familiar ground of talking herself out of situations, finding it a horrifying prospect before the master of such a feat, Jade started to pace about the room, circling her would-be assassin. She found a voice that increased in surety as she went on.

"I don't s'pose it matters t' yeh if I were t' tell yeh I was somewhat innocent in this." She wondered for a moment whether it was worth risking death by the Tunic to explain fully, but the concept of being crushed, unable to plead for a gracious shot in the head for the lack of breath, seemed far worse than succumbing to a quick death at Jack's whim. "Whether yeh believe me or not, Barbossa made me do it. I can' tell yeh how, nor what was at stake, but it wasn' my idea t' hurt yeh. An' 'm sorry, Jack, I am, but it en't good enough, is it? Not for yeh stupid Code an' yeh stupid ways." She grimaced at the bitter taste in her mouth and continued, "So anyways, what is it 'xactly that's required of retaliation t' mutiny aside from death? Why is it 'xactly that I 'ave t' die? Reputation wazzit?"

"In the loosest terms."

Jade stopped pacing and fixed him with a stare. "What if I jes' changed m' name, went away an' never came back? Yeh c'd jes' tell everyone I was dead. Make meh int' one o' yeh fanciful stories."

"Even supposing I accepted your not guilty plea," said Jack, "The danger still exists that someone would oust you. I 'ave no proof against Barbossa save your word. You would be found and made to admit your survival. I can't let it by, Jade, the request is denied."

"Christ, Jack, what's wrong with yeh?" she snapped. "This is _me_. Yeh know meh."

The pirate captain's brow furrowed.

"All righ', mebbe yeh _don' _know meh, _'xactly_, but I've never meant t' harm yeh. I had no choice!"

Jack's voice emitted a chilling monotone. "Neither do I." His hand strayed for his pistol and spidered its fingers on the handle. Jade skittered towards him, panicked.

"Let meh finish. Please. What if I found a way t' erase meh existence without the need f'r meh t' die? Prop'ly, not jes' playin' parts."

A glimmer of pity arose in Jack's expression. "I highly doubt such a possibility could be achieved."

"Let meh at least try? If I can' do it, then y' can come kill meh." She searched his horribly blank eyes; desperate for the warmth they once held.

He conceded. "You 'ave one week. No more."

Jade nodded numbly and offered her hand. "Agreed." He received it in his rag-covered palm. It perturbed her that he did not even squeeze. She pulled back. "Wharr'appened t' Tam?"

"She'll live," he said. "Slipped 'er on a cart heading for the mainland."

Her reply was an awkward, "Oh."

A minute passed in silence, then, even knowing that it would change nothing, she leapt forward and hugged him.

"'m sorreh, 'm sorreh…"

She ran for the door.

"Jade."

The young woman froze at the entrance. Jack beckoned with a hand.

"My compass."

Sick to the stomach, Miss Starfall turned and pulled out the object she had just stolen from her pocket. "I jes' thought it might give meh a hint as to where I sh'd start lookin'."

He approached, hand outstretched. "Love, if you're heading off into non-existence, you're not taking that with you."

In her despair, Jade's anger flared. "Take yeh rotten compass, then. It'll only lead yeh t' misery!" She threw it hard. It struck him across the face, and she didn't care. "I always thought yeh were a better man than yeh looked!" She turned on her heel and fled.

Jack reached down and collected his compass, clipping it mechanically to its place at his belt. He addressed the open doorway and muttered, "You thought wrong."

*****************************************************************

Having left a hasty letter for Grath at the town smithy, that afternoon Jade stowed aboard a trawler bound for Petit-Goâve. Concealing herself under a sheet of sailcloth in the emergency dinghy, she put her head in her hands, trying to hold back the tears. How was she going to vanish off the face of the earth, without dying, in only a week? Why was she even trying? Why hadn't Jack just told the Code to get stuffed? He was supposed to be free, not bound by inflexible laws. Unless… he didn't believe her? Did he think she really had wanted to betray him and was allowing her an alternative to death if she could find one? The fear and worry clouded her mind. The task she had set herself was impossible, even more so without the compass.

She was not trying. She was running.

Upon reaching the little French port she spent what meagre money she had on provisions and struck out along the coast of southwestern Hispaniola. Still residing in the Caribbean was a dangerous affair but the concept of attempting a trip to Europe without getting caught or starving was even less favourable. Jade trudged along the field-cutting paths, the noon sun of the third day glaring down at her. Almost halfway through her allotted time and no closer to erasing her existence.

Within the hour she came across an abbey, situated at the top of the bluffs overlooking the Gulf of Gonâve. Its grounds covered several acres, mostly banana plantations and open flatlands, with the main building itself being separated into a large chapel and two 'stable blocks'. Jade slammed the knocker on the first of the blocks she came to. The door opened to reveal a grey-haired monk with a solemn face.

"Oui, qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"'m sorreh, I don' un'erstan'," she mumbled.

The monk did not show any particular sympathy but he was patient.

"Can I help you?" he said.

"I -," she began. Her tongue curled back in the wake of the words, the readied lies, preparing to tumble out. "I wan' t' join yeh order. I've sinned some'at terrible an' I have t' repent. I abandon m' ways, sirrah, please, yeh mus' take meh in. I need sanctuary. I'll work on the land, anythin'!"

He frowned. "C'est impossible. I cannot help, child."

She could feel herself ready to put on the waterworks. "But why? Am I too far past savin'?"

The monk gave a smile at last. "Mais, non, mademoiselle, but this is not the place for you. The nunnery is l'autre side of the abbey."

Jade exhaled with relief. "Oh. Th-thank yeh." Without a further word, she dashed for the block with the closest view of the sea.

*****************************************************************

The order took her in with minimal fuss. She made it easy for them. A 'yes'm' here and a silence everywhere else, Jade donned the habit and spent an evening and a day praying, tending the grounds and washing sheets. Normally she would have loathed the monotony but there was a recuperative peace to it. She missed her self-fashioned clothes, which she kept under her bed, and was not a religious sort, but she endured the quiet labour without complaint. The other women were nice enough, but they were dull and lifeless, and they understood little English. Even in rooms full of people she felt horribly alone. If the others always felt that their God was with them, he paid no heed to Miss Starfall.

On the fourth evening of her last week, Jade slipped out of the late prayer service prematurely. The full day's work in the Caribbean sun had sapped her strength and so she retired to an empty dormitory. Beds sat in rows on either side of the block, all of them plain, neat and made. No, not all of them; one bed out of all the others had been slightly ruffled.

Hers.

Somewhere at the back of her mind was a little voice telling her to run. Behind that one was another voice telling the first voice that it would be too late if she tried. Why hadn't she forced herself to stay awake at prayer? She wished she had the safety of being amongst the two-score women who lived here. Jade crept to the bed and took a breath before yanking back the covers. The breath stuck in her chest. There, resting on the surface of the sheets was a small square of parchment, with an image in red ink. The picture was a sparrow.

_On that ill-fated morning when Jack was to be found nowhere aboard and the ship missing a dinghy, default captain Barbossa resolved to count up the votes for curiosity's sake. The box was brought out and unlocked. It happened that a gust of wind caught the lid and up flew myriad squares of paper, a confetti mockery of Hector's instatement. Out of all the ones that were caught, not one read Barbossa's name. Every single one was stamped with a red sparrow…_

It was dark. She could have been any one of those other nuns investigating disorder. Reining in her fear, she brushed off the paper and carefully remade the bed. Subtly, her hand traced under her pillow to locate her white quartz knife. It wasn't there. Feverish in her anxiety, Jade turned away from her own bed and set about pretending to straighten some of the others. Her eyes glanced up to the door. It seemed so far away. She could hardly run in this habit either.

"There be no use in hiding from me, Jade," came the voice she had been dreading.

"Who said I was hidin'?" she retorted, not ready to look into the shadows. "'S a good place not to exist here. I wouldn' go anywheres. No one'd know."

"And for how long would you be willing to keep this up? The rest of your life? You're not a nun."

"Yes I am!" she squeaked indignantly, whirling to glare at the shady dormitory. "I've got a wimple an' everythin'!" Her gaze flitted about, trying to filter him out from the gloom. "'m a servant o' God now, so yeh're not allowed t' hurt meh."

"Really?" Jack answered with a sinister undertone. "Found enlightenment, have we? Do you even have the faith?"

"Mebbeh," she said all too quickly.

"There's no maybe about it, darlin'. Either you believe or you're just a frightened girl in a black and white dress."

"'m not frightened," she lied.

He moved into a moonlit part of the room, boots sidestepping in fencer's style.

"You're holed up in a convent, binding yourself to servitude to escape a pirate. I'd say that constitutes as someone being afraid."

Any moment now she thought she would run. If she could just get out of the door and across the courtyard to the chapel, she'd be safe. But this was Jack Sparrow. If it wasn't that he could move swiftly enough to block her exit, was this not the man who could ransack a town in silence? How difficult would it be for him to kidnap a girl in a crowded room? It might have been worth a try.

"How did yeh get in here?" she asked quietly. "The door was locked."

Jack approached her slowly. She backed off at a matching pace.

"Tunnel system," he said. "Most convents have them. A few lesser ones meet with the outside, with the main path running between the two dormitories."

Jade's eyes widened with horror. "Yeh mean -." He drew closer and this time she did not remember to step away.

"You're fortunate it was I you found waiting."

Jade snorted a laugh. "_Fortunate_." She skittered back as he came yet closer. "Yeh made a promise not t' hurt meh before the week is over."

"You only have three days."

"Then I still have time," she said stubbornly. "So get out, y' hear? I'll leave t'morreh."

A faint echoing clatter came from underground. It could have been a rat, but Jade turned pale.

Jack glanced toward her bed. "Grab your effects."

Jade nodded quickly and snatched up her old possession sack. No time to change, she hurried out and fled the abbey grounds. Nowhere else to go in the middle of the night, she followed in the footsteps of the man that was going to kill her.


	4. Chapter 4

Out on the stygian cliffs Jade clutched her burdening skirts against the ruffling of the wind. She had fished out her belt and fastened it about her waist before attaching her belonging sack to the right of the buckle. Now she looked across at the man whose appearance normally saw fit to justifiably ridicule humanity. The pirate captain stood at the edge of the precipice, staring out to sea. Far below, the waves battered at a thin strip of jagged rocks. Jade felt the sight of them gnaw at her insides. If she were only to stand behind Jack and give him one little push…

She could hardly bear the thought.

But to survive?

Biting her lip, the faux nun approached, allowing the dull growl of the wind to drown her footsteps. It was a fool's hope. He had led her here after all, and it was distrust that had brought him. Not daring to let her hands leave her side, she came within a couple of feet of him.

"I don't blame you for trying," Jack said without turning.

"Eh?" she blurted, knowing at once how close her voice would sound.

Sparrow spun and grabbed her arm, dragging her out onto the edge, only his grip saving her from the teeth of the beach.

"No!" she yelped. "Please, Jack, 'm sorreh! Un'erstand, won't yeh? I don' want t' die." Her wide eyes could not decide upon which sight to take in, the ravenous waves below or the pirate's cold glare.

"Who's to say you won't come back though, ay?" he snarled, giving a sudden strange smile. "Is that not the way with your charming Hector?"

Jade gasped in disgust. "Hector! That fest'rin' piece'f sewage tripe c'n go an' boil 'is beard! He got me int' this an' if he crawled back ont' the mortal coil, 's because some'at powerful wanted it that way. I en't special, _Cap'n_, yeh kill meh an' I won't be back t' get even."

Jack's free hand clasped at the back of her headpiece. He tore it off and cast it to the sea, letting her unchecked hair whip loose. Without her bandanna she seemed more defenceless than ever.

"Please, Jack, don' make meh beg. Drop this vendetta. I'll do anythin', anythin' yeh need." Her mind sought frantically for something to trade. "I…I know a few o' the basic thin's expected of m' gender. I- I c'n darn, an' sew an' stuff. I know a bit about plants an' thin's t' treat wounds. I c'd be yeh handmaiden or some'at." She tried to hide her grimace.

He tilted her out further but stepped closer to keep her secure. "That is the most ludicrous attempt to preserve my reputation I 'ave ever been privy to."

"There must be some'at yeh'd keep meh for," Jade said, panicked. Her thoughts latched onto the last thing she would ever give up. Imminent death marred her perspective. The only hand she was able to offer a mutual grip with coursed along his collar and moved up to brush his cheek. He snatched her wrist.

"Don't embarrass y'self, missy. It's not worth dragging out your span to be an unpaid harlot. It would give me no pleasure to prolong your torment. You might think me cruel, Jade, but I am not the sort to fraternize with a woman what 'as no choice."

She felt a pang of relief, which was soured by the terror that he might let her fall at any moment. Some terrible part of her, below the surface, whispered disappointment.

But Jack's expression softened and he stepped back, bringing her back to solid ground. Instinctively, she broke away and ran. She stopped at a few yards' distance. He had not pursued.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"You still have three days."

Jade's lips parted to protest but she decided against it. "Then I'll go back t' town t'morreh. I can 'ardly stan' up let alone walk back now. Mebbe I'll find some'at."

"Where will you rest?"

She furrowed her brow and scanned the open grasses, struggling to keep her hair and skirts at bay. She winced at the sight of the abbey in the distance. As though she had made a reply, Jack nodded and struck out north along the cliffs.

"Come on," he called.

Jade followed him in his trek parallel to the coast until there came a dip with an easy slope down to the sea. They crossed a sandy beach, sloshed through the shallows of high tide at its far edge and came to a cave. She thought she heard a crab scuttle away as she clambered over the coarse rocks. Once inside, Jack wandered off to the back of the cave. Jade found a smooth section of floor and sat down. She opened up her travelling sack, pulled out her green frockcoat and huddled under it like a blanket. She watched the darkness warily and tugged out a pouch of dried fruit to eat. Soon enough Jack returned. She heard wood clattering and caught a glimpse of his silhouette crouching nearby. She had guessed what he was doing by the scraping sounds and soon enough a few sparks flickered in the shadows, giving way after a few spurts to a young fire. In the dim light she watched him discard the flat piece of rock he had used for flint and coax the fire to take to the wood – why it came to be here she did not know. He kept the flames low for warmth rather than light and sat on a raised ledge across from her.

Jade continued to observe Jack in the silence breached only by the crackle of the fire. She would never have told him but he had so often fascinated her. He wasn't 'impressive' per se, he couldn't lift an anchor with his bare hands, he was not a knight of imagined chivalry, but before him she had never known a man that could cause such a confusion of emotions in company. Most pirates were hated, respected or ignored, but Jack, he was like the scruffy alley cat that hooked your food from the open window but you sort of accepted as a sneaky scamp. Contrary to what was typical for his kind, he did not go out of his way to be a villain. He did what he wanted yet relied on the quick use of his tongue to keep situations sweet for as long as possible. He had never really had a face to be feared.

That was all gone. Even returning from the Locker had not so dampened his spirit. She had not caught him speaking to unheard voices since before she had betrayed him. With a numbness she glanced upon his tired face as he stared at his open compass. Jack Sparrow was empty.

"Jack…" Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"Yes?" A yes, not his custom 'aye', the cold response was said without looking up.

"Izzat pointin' after the _Pearl_?" she asked, eyeing the compass.

He nodded.

"Jack," she repeated, louder. He looked at her over the flames. "What happened t' yeh? Yeh're not the same. Tell meh."

The Captain sighed as if the question was irksome but Jade watched him sternly.

"You want to know what happened, do you?"

"Yes."

Jack snapped his compass shut and bared his unpleasant teeth. "Then sit y'self comfortable," he hissed.

She ignored his advice on account of its impossibility and Sparrow began his story.

****************************************************************

"I'll start from the top, shall I? After you 'ad so kindly seen fit to stupor me, I woke to find meself floating free in a dinghy half full. The weather was less than hospitable. If I 'ad not taken up me effects and got clear I'd be an unflattering smear on the same rocks what the longboat shattered upon. I swam to the closest, nay only, land in sight and it was not an island that had felt the sole of my boot before. Could I even call it an island? It was a patch of sand. No trees, no plants, no shelter, no food, no fresh water, _nothing_. Even with my compass it offered me no solution. I circled the island for days, watching my compass for a change in circumstance. Thirst drove me to drink brine and the heat plagued my vision. I 'ad no sword to use as a fishing tool, my luck held out just enough to entice one miniscule sprat to grab at a piece of string before it vanished along with its friends. I dug a trench with my bare 'ands to escape the scald of the sun.

"Finally the day came when I was too weak to stand; too starved; too hot; too sick. I spent hours staring at the pistol my... betrayer... had allowed me to keep, too stubborn to go through with the release it promised. I held on to the thought of the Code and ran it through my 'ead until it was all that kept me from losing me mind altogether. I almost gave up, and then my compass needle moved. Soon as I noticed it I was set upon by a band o' Turkish slavers come ashore for a wealth they'd buried. I 'ad no fight left in me but it seemed they thought I'd last. They dragged me aboard their ship, took my effects and left me in the brig. On occasion they threw water at me. We weren't far enough from their base for them to be concerned with rations. I drank what I could. When I'd got enough stamina to put foot to floor they 'ad me working on deck. As you'd expect, I was not handled with care. They delighted in tenderising their labourers, but I avoided more than most. I kept quiet, I did the duties without error; I never even told them my name. The sparrow tattoo was lost on them. My brand was all they cared to notice.

"We reached their berth. It was the same festering hellhole where I got the drawing of Jones's key. Live men still placed in gibbets in wait for feasting crows. They kept me in the cells until I bantered me way into the jailers' good books. For a time I was the garrison jester, a performing monkey if you will. Still in chains I played the entertainer with sleight of hand and quick wit. Most of all they enjoyed pitting my sharp tongue against their fellows for sport, which resulted in the victim of my insults dealin' back in force. It was routine. I made all of 'em laugh bar one, that one would beat me, nigh brain me against the walls, and then _all_ of 'em would laugh. When I tried to give it up, they tortured me.

"And so it went on, cycling through rotting in cells, to playing parts, to screaming under knives for, as it turned out, two 'ole months. I tried to forget each night, pretended it wasn't 'appening, that I'd find a way out, all the usual things I do to get by. For so long I couldn't find opportunity nor strength to get out and all I ever strived for began to feel pointless. All the times I'd run into trouble before, I dismissed and got through knowing what it was I wanted. I lived for me, for my ship, for all the simple pleasures and the hope that one day I might find freedom eternal.

"Against my better nature I gave in to despair, but with it I gained clarity enough to see my ideal could never be achieved. Not by 'just surviving'. Not with _Parlay_. I dropped the charm, focused on what was expected of a pirate. I lived for the Code. To get free and put a shot through the one responsible for my being there was all that I had.

"When the jailer on duty passed I convinced him I 'ad a new trick that 'e could show to 'is mates. What 'e learnt was the amount of time 'e 'ad left to breathe after the string of beads garrotting 'im 'ad been tied to the bars. I hooked out 'is keys, let myself out and skulked about until I found my pistol and compass. That was all they 'ad not sold. I only left after I'd hunted down my torturers, every single one. I took a longboat up the coast into Spanish territory, rested to dress my wounds and then, using what money I'd gleaned from the Turks, bartered passage where I needed. I pursued the one person I knew to 'ave got me into this mess that wasn't my own self. My compass led me to 'er.

"We've 'ad our ups an' downs, you an' me, but I never conceived what you could put me through. My compliments, lass, for being the element of surprise."

* * *

Averse to the tale's end, Jade snarled at him, eyes burning with guilt. "Shut-up! Was that it? That was all yeh went through? Jes' a little bit'f bein' poked an' locked up broke the spirit of Cap'n _Jack Sparrow_? I told yeh I never meant harm, yeh know what I feel about it, yeh don' have t' make it worse." She couldn't stomach his story, particularly when there hadn't even been the usual Sparrowisms of ridiculous feats involving turtles and convenient plotholes. The taunting was automatic.

"Worse?" Jack's reply was unnervingly quiet, and then he started laughing. The devil himself couldn't have laughed better to transfix her where she sat. "Aye, it could've been worse," he said, casually. "Had my captors not been so close to a shore with wenches to satisfy, what I _have _endured would pale in comparison to that which I might. That is perhaps why I yet have my life or a contributing factor as to why I am preserving yours."

Jade glowered. "Don' yeh dare make this about yeh generosity, Jack. I'm tryin' t' do the impossible an' I think yeh're only lettin' meh because y' want t' see meh suffer."

Sparrow got up with a speed that made her scramble backwards in fear. He cleared the pile of cinders in his stride and seized the collar of her habit. Jade found herself held over the spitting embers, face stinging with the heat. Before she had time to yelp, Jack kicked away the smouldering remnants of the fire and removed the danger. He snatched up a piece of kindling, hauled her upright and spun her around to face him. His maddened eyes followed hers in the darkness with a lupine determination, face drawn so close that his lips almost brushed hers.

"I 'ave never relished hurting you."

He let go of her and held up the smoking twig in one hand. He closed his other over the tip. Jack grimaced at the pain and crushed the once burning end in his fist. He took her hand and pressed the cooling ashes into her palm, drawing a dark grey circle.

"You 'ave Jones to thank for the inspiration," he said, resuming his icy tone. "Three days from sun-up I will come looking for you. Don't let me find you."

Wordlessly, Jade watched him return to the destroyed fire and begin to set it up again. She sank to the ground and curled up under her coat, staring for a while at the 'black spot' he had given her. When she looked up again, the fire had been relit and Jack was back on the ledge. It was not long before she realised he was going to stay awake, but whether it was because he didn't trust her or that he was protecting her she did not ask. Weariness dragged Jade into sleep.

When she woke, Jack was gone. The fire had long since died. Upon the ledge where he had been he had placed her sack of belongings. On top of it was a piece of parchment pinned with her knife. Jade opened it to reveal an old map of Hispaniola. Three markings in particular made her stomach churn. The first – a small island to the northwest written in Jack's not unpleasant cartography script 'Tortuga'. The second was an 'x' denoting the position of the very cave she was in. That explained the stash of wood; he had been here before. Lastly, there was something written at the western edge of the island that sat in the Gulf of Gonâve, a name that told her where she was heading.

Tia Dalma.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **_Plothole disaster averted. This chapter may be a lot different if you read it before, edited 7th June 2010._

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_The morning's warmth on her side, Jade changed back into her own clothes: shirt and trousers, frockcoat and headscarf. She bundled up the habit, tempted to leave it in the cave, but shoved it into her sack. The material might have proved to be of some value. Wasting no more time she hugged the coast until she reached the harbour of Petit-Goâve, from whence she stole a small fishing boat belonging to a group of heavily hung over sailors.

It was a long journey. She was fortunate that the sea was calm but the strength of her arms had seen better days. The pull of the oars took all of her determination to make it to the island. She had to take breaks, which often drifted her off course. By the early hours of the sixth day she found the mouth of the river that she had travelled once before. It was quieter than she remembered. The splash of the oars and the chirp of insects accompanied her passage through the swampy, humid jungle.

In thought, Jade revisited her last meeting with the macabre witch woman back when she had first met Jack. He had never explained the extent of Tia Dalma's power, nor what she truly was, a nostalgic goddess residing in the home she had made for her mortal form. The days of Beckett were over, the hydra's head of the East India Trading Company severed for the time being, and the seas were far more brutal than they had been for over a hundred years.

Tia Dalma had come aboard the _Black Pearl_, smiling enigmatically at the nervous crew. She gave her attentions mostly to Sparrow and Barbossa. The latter hadn't seemed so disagreeable back then, crude and curt in his speech but rarely unhelpful. He had a lot more nobility to him than most of the ordinary rabble. Tia Dalma and Hector had spent a great deal of time in one another's company. Jade had assumed it to be nothing more than a private relationship and kept clear. She had made it a point to avoid Tia anyway. The dark-skinned woman gave off an aura that instilled a similar inner lurch to losing your footing on a stair. You didn't want to stay close too long for fear of falling the rest of the flight.

The strange woman had stayed for a small number of voyages, spending most of her time on deck in solitude. It was not hard for her to find peace; most of the crew kept their distance and even Jack could be seen nibbling his fingernails and offering placating grins. Some nights she would disappear entirely and Jade could have sworn she had seen the voodoo priestess leap from the rail, only to find not a ripple once she hurried to look overboard. Then, one day Tia Dalma disembarked and Jade did not see her again.

Now she rowed the weathered boat at last into the open swamp and looked over her shoulder to see the stilted shack. It crouched above the gloomy waters like an animal so slow to graze that it had solidified. She drew up to the bank and fastened the mooring line then forced herself to climb the ladder up to Tia Dalma's home. She had no time to let herself be afraid. Her hand clasped about the door handle and she entered.

Incense floated about the room, entangling everything with its musky scent, trinkets dangled still from the rafters but were not as numerous as they had once been. The bottles of live creatures were fewer and the floors, so often neglected, had grown thick with creeping plants. Jade trod the boards quietly, trying not to upset the hanging ornaments and ingredients as she made her way to the table at which the owner usually sat.

"'llo?" Jade called, her eyes sweeping the crab-like jewellery scattered across the tabletop.

A curtain of beads rattled at the back of the room. Tia stood there, her face with the same ancient youthfulness it had always had, one hand caressing a live python necklace. She grinned at Jade with her blue-black teeth.

"I know you," she said.

Jade nodded. "From the _Black_ _Pearl_. I'm Jade, Jade Starfall."

"Yayss, and no. Dat is not your birth name."

Jade shrugged. "Then p'r'aps 's a step closer t' why I came."

Tia Dalma moved closer and stretched her arms upward to allow the lethargic snake to wind itself up into the shack's garniture. "What ken I do for yow?"

Jade took out a crumpled ball of paper from her pocket and offered it. Tia opened it up and looked upon the red bird.

"I can' tell yeh all of it," said Jade, "else who knows how much I'd survive? I need t' convince the world I en't a part of it any more, at least not as m'self, pref'rably without meh needin' t' die. If I don' find a way after t'morreh, he'll kill meh."

Tia frowned. "You fear da hunt of de sparrow?"

"He en't the same. He lost hisself an' he blames meh f'r it. He lives f'r vengeance now an' from what I un'erstan' of 'im, he en't a good specimen f'r underestimation."

Tia presented a grim smile. "Den de first test is passed. Even widout de change, Sparrow prove to be da constant variable. Too many in de past leave him for dead but he always come back." She released a curiously wistful sigh. "Like de cockroach, him kerry on. But, were it so dat de cockroach want de human dead, dey all best make deir peace wid de world for it will not long have dem."

Jade winced. "This en't conducive t' solvin' meh problem. Can yeh help meh?"

Tia inclined her head. "You have payment?"

Jade opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Dizziness clouded her mind. What could she possibly give to match what she was asking for? She reached to her belt, took out her quartz dagger and placed it on the table. She removed her blue lapis pendant from about her neck and laid it out too, followed by a silver, ruby-chipped ring. Still Tia looked at her expectantly. At a loss, Jade resigned to open her travel sack. She took out the nun's habit in order to see what else she had to offer.

"Dat will do," said the voodoo priestess.

"Eh? But 's jes' -."

Tia beckoned. Jade passed over the lump of fabric. Tia Dalma took it and sniffed it suddenly.

"Yayss. Consecrated. Dis will be fair." She scooped up Jade's other trinkets inside it and put them out of sight. Then, she turned back to Miss Starfall and rose from her seat.

"You understand of course dat dere will be oder costs? Not paid to me but da world aboot you."

Grimacing, Jade replied, "Aye, I suspected as much, but yeh might as well tell meh."

"You must not see your family or friends again, or anyone likely to know what happened. Dis should not be too much of a problem for, once we are through, you will not remember dem anyway. Your past life and all your mem'ries will be forgotten. Your understanding of da world and your skill, dey will be de only t'ings left over. But, should you know his name and your ow-wun, even dis false _Jade Starfall_, it would be halfway to undoing da spell."

"Halfway?" Jade said, groggily.

"If it come to pass you learn both your name and de name of him who hunt you, and den come to see his face again and connect de information, de mem'ries will come unlocked and your life forfeit."

Jade began to pace within a small section of the room. There was little time to make a decision. It was either lose everything and live a lie or simply lose everything. She was not beholden to any particular belief system, so new memories compared with none forever sounded the best bargain.

"Aw'ight," she uttered at last. "'s all I can do."

Tia stared at her, her ragged appearance taking on an edge of primal authority. Something beyond feminine stirred beneath her expression. "You kerry weapons but you ask how to hide, not defend. You see aboot yow my creatures, my poisons, all de manner of t'ings to hurt but you speak not of striking back at him who seek to harm you for dat which you kennot help."

Jade met Tia's wild gaze with exhausted courage. "I en't so timid not t' think of it. I jes' know yeh wouldn' let meh." She continued even as the dark priestess's brow rose. "I know yeh had some'at t' do with bringin' Jack back from Davy Jones's Locker an' the fight agains' Beckett. An' if he 'asn' displeased yeh enough t' dispense with 'im, I don' think yeh'd so easily let meh take 'is life." She shrugged. "That an' the fact that I think yeh know full well he en't easy t' kill. 'm startin' t' wonder if it'd've been poison in tha' bottle rather'n jes' a sleepin' draught, e'd've found some way t' avoid it someways."

Tia showed no indication of surprise at this. "Den dere is nutting else to do. Now, I want you to t'ink of where you want to go while I make de preparations. T'ink of what it is you want to be doing in de ordinary world."

As Tia roamed her shack for a variety of weird components and set the stove gurgling, Jade considered her fate. There was not much on offer for a young woman in this century but education was on her side. Before becoming tangled up in unintended piracy, she had been a courier – an unusual profession for a girl, but she had found plenty of people wishing to send sordid and secretive missives that needed unusual discretion. The job was too dangerous now. For a fleeting moment she sorely desired to know what had been in those letters for Beckett, the last mission she had undertaken and never completed. What if they had been a dismissal, or even a warrant for his execution? The waves alone knew now how many lives she could have saved if she had delivered them. What profession should she hope to try: a maid, perhaps, a seamstress (a real one), or even a governess if she worked hard? Either way she settled for England, in the countryside somewhere.

She was brought out of her prospects by a sharp pain on her scalp. Jade yowled and turned to see Tia waltzing off with a strand of her hair. It went into the foul-smelling mixture over the fireplace. She watched Tia snatch a flytrap-like plant and wrench off its head before crushing it into the pot. The ethereal woman thrust her hand into a tank of blue beetles, squashed one in her palm and cast it to the mix. Jade had to hold back the bile in her throat and look away. Tia flounced off through the bead drapes. There was a clinking of glassware and she re-emerged with a vial of something dark and fuzzy.

"Wossat when it's at 'ome? If I dare ask," Jade said, wrinkling her nose.

"Somet'ing of Jack's." Tia gave a lewd giggle and ran a few fingers through her braided hair. Jade realised what the ingredient was – a snip off the end of one of Sparrow's dreadlocks. How Tia had obtained it she decided not to ask. With a grin, Tia plucked one thin hair from it, tossed it in with the rest and stirred it all up. She strained the concoction into a bottle and gave the result to Jade.

"You are not done wid yet," Tia Dalma said sharply. "Come dis way." She led Jade into the storeroom for her wonderful and terrible collection. Creatures; skulls; herbs; eldritch artefacts; old heirlooms and pieces of junk sat in disarray upon shelves. Toward the back of the stock was a long wooden rack full of clothes of times past and present, rich and poor, presumably given in trade for Tia's gifts.

They picked out a plain country dress and cream petticoats, adjusted them to fit, taking in here and there for Jade's slight frame. There was even a straw bonnet to suit. Once she was kitted in her new garments, Jade clenched her teeth.

"I hate m' new life already."

Tia smirked. "It do fine. If dey overlook da unladylike walk, all be well. Best you lay off de talkin' too."

Jade scowled. "So what now?"

Tia bade her stay put whilst she rummaged around in varying alcoves. "Open ya hand," she said. Jade did so; too late in realising it was the one with the remnants of the circular soot mark. Tia Dalma's eyes narrowed.

"'s jes' ash," Jade said quickly. "It en't from Jones." She did not know of the bond that had existed between the octopus-faced figure and the woman before her, merely noted the disapproval.

"You did not t'ink to wash it off in de water?"

Jade averted her eyes guiltily. She felt the cold metal of coins pressed into her palm. She looked and gasped. "But this must be nearly -!"

"Enough to get you where you need, yayss? Go. Take your knife. I have put it on de table wid your food rations, in case you need it. Everyt'ing else will remain here. When you get to de new shores, drink all of de potion. Good luck, Miss Starfall, but I t'ink it is more goodbye."

Jade nodded. She turned to leave but hesitated. "C'd he not jes' forgive meh?" she said softly. "Izzat too much t' ask?"

Tia shook her head. "Dat I kennot help you wid."

Forgetting her fear, Jade turned about and embraced Tia as the last person who would ever know her. Then, she stepped out of the door into non-existence.

Dusk fell upriver and Tia coaxed the python back down to her shoulders. She moved to retrieve a piece of cloth that had been drying by the fire, having used it to swab the last of Jade's potion from the pot. She placed the lapis pendant and the ring inside the cloth and bound them up as a parcel. She attached it to a piece of string that hung from the ceiling and watched it spin slowly.

"I kennot say dis time dat it was de wind brought you to me."

The man in the shadows stepped out. "Did you 'elp her then?"

"If dat ken be called help. Look you to your compass after tomorrow and de answer will be dere."

Jack moved through the narrow spaces between the aloft bottles and containers, unflinching when a lizard hissed at temple height. "Will it kill her?"

Tia gave him a sidelong glance. "Do you keer?"

He faltered in his step and broke eye contact. She wandered to her table, caressing the serpent that wound about her.

"You have changed, Jack Sparrow, de girl was right. You t'ink you have lost your fear but de truth is dat you have too much. Yayss de world has not been kind to yow but did you ever t'ink dat by changing yourself you cause more harm to it den it ever did you? Beware, Sparrow, for you sail de treacherous waters. De world may loathe you for wearing ya heart on da sleeve," her hand traced the crab-engraved locket about her throat, "but it be far worse a t'ing to fill it wid false duty."

His moustache twitched. He glared and responded with venom. "Aside from the lecture on morality, a fanciful notion I don't have upon which to improve, can anyone find out who she is?"

"If you do not seek her, no matter how many times dey may say her name or yours, she will have no mem'ry of what she was." Tia let the python down. It slithered off past the curtain of beads.

Jack appeared to consider. "And if I were to work out a way of finding her, just to make sure of the potency?"

"Den you would have to make certain she did not see you, else dat she not find out your name, nor must ye call her by her ow-wun."

"Mm." He stared seemingly into space. She followed his line of sight to a strip of blue material draped on a shelf.

"Dear Jack…" Tia purred. She swept around the table as though she were in a ballgown and drew up close. She took in his scent, perturbed that he was completely sober. The sickly sweetness of fermented sugar cane had almost evaporated. Her hand drifted to his stomach and began to slide downward, hoping to shock him out of his mood.

His voice came out in a barely audible growl. "_Captain._" Not an eyelid flicker of a warning, he grabbed Tia and forced her backwards onto the table. He did not expect her to be grinning when he leaned over her. Tia's hand shot to his throat and squeezed tightly. Jack choked.

"Forget not my power, Sparrow, but most of all, forget not dat you are better dan a monster. If you keep down dis path, you will ow-wunly need one of dese…" With the hand that was not throttling him she flipped open her locket and let the sad song of its music box surround them. She released Jack and he staggered back, for a split-second displaying the fox-like skittishness of his old self. His eyes darted to the door.

"Wait," said Tia as she got back to her feet. She shut her locket and cut off the chiming lullaby. "Dere is somet'ing you should know aboot da girl."

He looked back to her.

"She is cursed. Dere is some'ting surrounding her. Somet'ing older den even my magic. She said dat she could not tell me everyt'ing aboot her trouble but when she left I felt it on her. I said nutting for fear of disturbing da spell but someone has a hold on her. Tell me it is not you."

Jack shook his head, doubt coruscating in his eyes. It only took a moment. Tia turned about the table once more. When she looked back, Jack had fled the shack. The blue headscarf had vacated its shelf.

Tia gave her locket a forlorn, lingering look and slumped into her chair. "And here," she said to it, "we kennot separate de selfish from de selfless. As wid us, my love, pain changes all beings. Da world plays us for fools. No diff'rent is de sparrow wid de broken wing who peck dose who would help him from de man dat curse de sea for her cruelty. Dere will be sorrow before de end."


	6. Chapter 6

Atop the highest hill that the field had to offer, Kitty watched the sun set past the crests of Derbyshire's pastoral landscape. The sight was agreeable but she felt she had seen better. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind ruffling the grasses that in the lighter hours rippled gold and green. Although she had never seen it, she fancied the sound was like the ocean. Up here, when taking respite from her chores, she could imagine she was somewhere far more exciting and having fantastic adventures.

Her spare time did not last long. Soon enough she heard the tolling of the distant village bell. Kitty turned from the fading light and ran back to the farmhouse that had become as good as home.

"Oh there you are, Kitty," said the motherly woman at the kitchen stove, her cheeks like polished apples. "Have you run the hens into their coop for the night?"

Kitty nodded. "Yes'm."

"Filled the pails for the beasts?"

"Yes'm."

"Good girl. We'll make a hand out of you yet." The older woman took down some hanging vegetables and began to chop them neatly, keeping an eye on the simmering stew-pot astride the oven. "We need to get you used to cooking and doing the sheets. The less said about the cow incident this morning the better, I think."

Kitty's green eyes met with her shoes. "It'd help if they didn' 'ave some'at agains' meh," she mumbled. "Any time I gets some'at from 'em they kick the bucket over an' if I en't been kicked along with it, I 'ave t' start again."

The farmer's wife chortled. "Perhaps you're being too rough with them."

Kitty cut a comical figure for this statement, being so slight and misleadingly delicate in her appearance. She coughed awkwardly and ambled about the kitchen.

"Mrs Moore, 's there anythin' yeh wan' meh t' get started on? I can' sit aroun' idle when yeh're lettin' m' under yeh roof."

"There's always work to be done, miss. Floors to sweep, clothes to fix…back of the pantry door wants washing where it got flour spilled down it…there's helping me with supper and all the dishes to wash that that brings." Mrs Moore tossed the last of the vegetables into the pot and then paused. "Oh, yes, if you could find Paul and ask him to watch the sheep tonight I'd be grateful. The usual boy's sent us a letter that he's taken ill. It'll be on account of all that rain he was out in last week."

Kitty's interest perked. "I c'd do it."

"Do what, dear?"

"I c'd watch the sheep. I like bein' outside. 'S not so cold this time'f year."

"Oh goodness no, dear. You can't very well sit out there all on your own on a dark night. It's not an easy job by any means and there could be wild animals out there or even poachers. We've had quite a few rogues from t'other side of the village come to have a go at pinching our flock before now."

Kitty gave a devilish smile. "I en't scared. 'Sides, I 'ave m' ways f'r dealin' with anythin' after the sheep." She lifted the side of her skirt to reveal the sheathed pistol nestled amongst a layer of petticoat.

Mrs Moore gasped. "What are you about carrying one of those on you?"

"I won it at the fair las' week. I learn' a bit'f shootin' when I was young so I gave it a go jes' 'cause all the folk said I couldn' possibleh manage it. Shot the bottle clean off their silly stall. Shut 'em up proper." She giggled. "Anyways, I c'n take care of m'self, I'd prefer it t' bein' cooped up in 'ere. So c'n I do it? Please?"

Mrs Moore frowned but eventually wilted at the look of expectancy on the young lady's face. "Lord help me whatever hellion's looking for her daughter. Yes, all right, you can try, but if you lose any sheep, you can go all around the country until you get them back, and if you see more than one poacher about, you run straight back here and shout blue murder."

"Yes'm. Thank y'."

"There's half a loaf and some cheese through there. You'll be missing out on the stew, so take those and you'd best get going. Careful not to fall asleep too often. I expect you will on your first go but take care, you hear? You'll want that crook in the cowshed, too."

Barely ten minutes later, Kitty was escaping to the hills to carry out her new vocation. She had made certain of the number of the flock and counted them twice when she began. It was not simple, a milling herd was tricky to monitor, but she welcomed the cool, billowing air and the peace under the stars. She sat upon the higher ground as she had done at sunset, taking care to pick a spot unsullied by the shameless creatures in her charge. Kitty huddled within a woollen cloak gifted to her by Mrs Moore for the task and drew in the sweet scent of the night.

The hours passed swiftly, which was unusual for such a watchful task, but in between her occasional counts, Kitty spent her time in deep thought. With a smiling face she greeted the stars and the yellow-tinged moon, spreading her arms wide, feeling the wind stroking her dark hair, puffing out her sleeves and toying with her skirts. At its strongest it was like flying with her feet still on the ground, the natural energy was exhilarating. She discovered the joy of humming in an open space. At first she shied from the volume it reached, but, on discovering it had not carried far enough to awaken the farmhouse, she resumed. Once or twice some of the sheep gave her a quizzical glance but they merely flicked their ears and continued to graze and lounge. Bo Peep, Bo Peep, a shepherdess life for her?

Kitty jolted awake in the manner one's body does when it knows the brain is disgusted at its disloyalty. Her startled eyes darted about as she registered where she was and immediately scolded herself for dropping off. The moon was still high but the village bell refused to offer a helpful chime as to the hour. Hastily, she got to her feet and began to scout the field for any disturbances, cursing her bonnet for blinkering her vision. Nothing seemed untoward but she added up the sheep. Her first try resulted in all being present, but, concerned that she had duplicated a few, she counted twice more. Kitty winced. Two were missing. She squinted at the perimeters on every side. To the east was the farmhouse. Its lack of grazing areas suggested the lost sheep were unlikely to have wandered there, especially so far from the flock. To the west and south were great hills that would have displayed the white splodge of a roaming sheep from miles apart. As for the north, a fence bordered the edge of a clump of woodlands, blocking the animals from wandering in.

Chiding herself, Kitty searched and searched from the hilltop, unwilling to risk yet leaving the flock. Then, she glimpsed the open gate. At the far northwest corner where the fence met the dark trees, a gate had been left wide, or perhaps it had blown open. One of the visible flock-members had already neared this exit and was giving the inner undergrowth a bout of considering glances.

Kitty frowned and picked up her crook. She marched down to the gate and shooed a few sheep back towards the field before staring into the daunting shadows. So this was what Mrs Moore meant as the downside to the job. She couldn't even imagine the normal shepherd boy daring to go through. It was a pleasant enough place in the daylight. She had even had a picnic in there on her first week of helping out at the farm. The night's illusions made demons out of the crooked, curling trees and traitors out of the fallen leaves.

A shadow moved. It peeled away within the forest's recesses. She would only have been startled had she not heard footsteps taking flight. Kitty slipped a hand to her petticoat and withdrew the flintlock; heart thudding so loudly in her chest she thought it might drown even the wind. She left the crook propped against the fence and, closing the gate behind her, stepped quietly into the woods.

The path seemed alien to her so plunged in shade, but she kept a sense of the way back at every instant. It was almost impossible not to step on deafening leaves and twigs. After a few minutes she ceased edging onward and waited for the noise of insects to take up their song. She rested against a tree and peered out at the uninviting scenery. Her head whipped about at a snapping nearby. She released her snatched breath. With the smallest morsel of comfort, Kitty caught sight of one of the missing sheep.

She waited, unmoving, watching the woods for the source of the shadow she had seen. Had she even seen what she thought? Kitty began to doubt her senses. The footsteps might have been an owl's wings; the crunch of leaves, the leap of a wild rabbit. She had almost given up the fear and had started toward the woollen ward when the din of disturbed branches echoed about her. Something struck the ground to her left and bounced. It was a conker. Her eyes scanned the trees, wishing against her own terror's desires for the ability to see the launcher of the missile.

A man's voice called from somewhere up in the trees. It resonated too much to pinpoint. It had the strong pang of common London with the taint of other dialects having diluted it over time. Whilst it was not very deep it was earthy and almost derisive.

"Is it entirely wise for a girl to come chasing shadows all by 'er onesies in the unforgiving wilderness? Didn't your mother ever tell you the folk stories?"

Kitty ducked back against the nearest tree and glared at the forest canopy, pistol raised. "I en't afraid. I s'pose yeh'd be one o' the poachers I'm s'posed t' be wary of?"

Amusement laced the untraceable voice. "You made the task easier than I expected. Baiting was seamless."

The young woman silently untied her bonnet and set it down, releasing her from its vision constraints. "Who are yeh?" she snapped. "One o' the market men? Or mebbe yeh work over at the ol' Richards farm a-ways s'west?"

"Nah."

"Who then?"

The reply came back in eerie singsong tones. "Per'aps I am Pan, _silva deus_, lord of leaf and branch, the virile tormentor, enticer of maidens? Or a hobgoblin, hell-bent on devouring the flock in your keep and saving its exquisite protectress for afters?"

"Give meh the sheep back!" Kitty snarled.

From the trees, the voice purred challengingly, "Cam' an' get them."

At a loss for a decision, Kitty crept forward towards the only sheep she could see. The woods stayed quiet. Cautiously, she peered into the deeper trees to seek out the other stray. At last she saw it, just a little further down the path. She drew a breath and looked around quickly. It was too much like a trap.

"Psst, sheep! C'mere!" she hissed, as if it would do any good. She could almost feel the hidden figure grinning somewhere above. Still she refused to make herself an open target. Kitty backed off towards the field, trying to coax the nearest sheep with a few tugs of her hand.

There was a cracking of branches. Something dropped out of the trees ahead and was swallowed by the gloom. A shape flashed past her vision and in her panic, Kitty let the pistol go off. For a moment there was an awful silence, save for the pattering of sheep hooves, but in that moment she realised there had been no cry of pain. Dread crawled through her blood. Her enemy would know now that her defence, her one shot, had been spent and she was a solitary victim. She did what she knew he had been waiting for and bolted as blindly as her sheep.

Kitty tore through the trees, back towards the field. She saw the gate ahead with its beckoning freedom. It was an irrational belief. There was still the length of the field before the farmhouse, but the open country itself fooled her with comfort.

Almost there, gasping, the skeletons of leaves crunching under her shoes. She was feet away. He slid from her peripheral vision, directly into her path. Kitty almost toppled backward to keep from colliding with him. The darkness shrouded the man, but she could see the cut of his clothes was more like a gypsy or a bandit than the practical attire of a poacher. His face was mostly masked with a scarf from the nose down and a bandanna in his splayed hair. All she could see was a thin strip from which his unfathomable eyes stared.

"Think you'll be needing this," he said.

Kitty made a small, unintelligible sound of confusion before she realised he was holding her crook. The masked man shot his hands forward and hurled the stick into her startled grasp before he darted back into the trees. Kitty only dared to bring the nearest sheep back with her. When she turned to close the gate, the last missing creature gave a distressed bleat and blundered out from the forest. It never ventured from the field again as long as it lived.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**_ Apologies, this chappie doesn't feel like much happens in it. Hope to get another one up by next week though. Please do review if you enjoy the story, it's nice to know how many people read it :) Reviews make me write more often too ;P_

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"Kitty, what happened to your bonnet?"

It was just past dawn when she returned to the farmhouse. She was determined not to give up the shepherd job after only one bad experience. The sheep were all accounted for. She would just have to learn not to fall asleep next time.

"Eh, the wind blew it off int' the forest," she told Mrs Moore. "I might go look f'r it later before 's dark."

"Never mind, dear, how did you fare? Any trouble?"

"No, 's fine. C'n I keep doin' it while Toby's ill?"

"Well, yes, if it's what you want. Think you can get used to sleeping through daylight hours?"

Kitty shrugged. "Will 'ave t' see, won't weh?" She smiled through her tiredness. She didn't need Mrs Moore worrying over her. There was always that fear that if she caused too much hassle that she'd be ushered out from the family.

"All right then, I won't keep you any longer," said Mrs Moore. "Go and find Suzanne. She'll help you run up a bath. You can have breakfast as your supper. I'll bring it up. We'll wake you at two o' clock and you can do some of the rounds before sundown."

Kitty responded with a yawn and a nod before trudging through the house to the laundry room. It was reasonably sized, windowless, with stone tiles underfoot and drainage channels for the water that was frequently spilled during daily routine. Washing lines crisscrossed overhead bearing sheets and clothes, and a large kettle hissed upon a stove. Suzanne Moore was already up and about, standing at the great tub in the centre of the floor, stirring with the dolly. She was a stocky girl, not from excess of food but through years of hard work, younger than Kitty, only just out of adolescence. Her face was dotted with a scatter of freckles and her lovely blond hair was kept together in a large single plait.

As Kitty entered, Suzanne looked up from the tub and gasped. "'Sakes, Kitty! Look at the state of you! Your hair!"

Kitty smirked. "Ah, don' fuss, 'm fine. Don' s'pose there's water enough f'r a bath?"

Suzanne gave the tub a deductive frown. "If you have no quarrel with the water being tainted with a couple of sheets, give it a few minutes and you can get in this."

"Thank y', that'd do."

The young blonde scrubbed away, her gaze occasionally flitting over to Kitty who was pacing about the room with an agitated expression.

"What was it like?"

"Hmm?"

"Watching the flock by yourself. Didn't it get lonely?"

Kitty shrugged. "I like it on meh own really." She meandered in between the dangling clothes. "'S cold but quiet, lots'f time t' think."

Suzanne fished out one of the sheets and squeezed out the water in order to hang it on the line. "What do you think about?"

"Anythin' really, sometimes pictures of thin's an' places, little fancies an' such."

"Ooh I wish you'd tell me them. I couldn't imagine having enough to think about to keep me entertained all night long. I'd get restless and if it got so cold I'd yearn for the fire and a warm bed."

Kitty smiled politely and resumed placing her attention on the fixtures of the room whilst Suzanne retrieved the last sheet. Giving Kitty a dubious glance, Suzanne then hurried to the door. She closed it and, still with a hand poised on the handle, she turned to Kitty.

"Something happened, didn't it?" Her face was etched with concern but her eyes sparkled with the lust for knowledge.

"No," said Kitty, with a fraction of a delay.

"Oh, you've got to tell me! Was there a wild dog? Or a bull?" Suzanne got more excited. "Did one of the Richards' bulls get loose?"

Kitty laughed. "One o' them dozy ol' thin's? They'd only chase yeh if y' teased 'em f'r a fortnight."

"Then what?"

"C'n I have m' bath first? Then I might tell yeh."

Suzanne pouted. "If I sit behind the sheets can I talk to you at the same time? It'll get me out of doing other chores. Please?"

Sighing, Kitty relented. "If yeh must, but no coming out 'til I say so, aw'ight?"

"Yes!" Suzanne cheered. She bolted the door and raced to pick up a stool. She placed it behind a curtain of bed sheets hanging from a line and sat, masked by the screen.

Kitty let her stew for a few minutes whilst she undressed, glancing to the sheets to make sure there was no sign of movement. It was not just that she was shy. Her body held certain marks that she was not willing to share with anyone. She could not remember where they were from and put it down to her long forgotten childhood. Thin scars traced her back in a lattice pattern and upon her right wrist was an undeniable brand of the letter 'P'. It must have been some twisted joke and she was glad she could not remember the cruel individual responsible. She wasn't even certain what it meant. Even so, she kept it covered up with her long sleeves. Kitty hissed in pain as she put one leg into the water.

"Kitty?" Suzanne called, alarmed.

"'m fine, jes' a bit hotter'n I expected." Kitty tentatively brought her other foot into the tub, cringed at the temperature and waited a little while. She did not notice Suzanne take her clothes down from where she had slung them until she heard the telltale clicking of someone toying with her pistol. By then she was already hovering in the tub and the noise startled her into plunging in all the way.

"Suzie, leave it!"

"There's no shot in this pistol. Oh, Kitty! You shot something last night! You have to tell me!"

"Sshh!" Kitty hissed. "Don' you go tellin' anyone! Y' promise?"

"Yes, yes, I promise. Please, please, please, tell me! You weren't hurt, were you?"

"If yeh shut it f'r a minute I might get a word in!" Kitty grumbled.

"Ple-."

"Aw'ight!" There was a loud splash as Kitty's fists hit the surface of the water. She lay back and wearily rubbed her arms under the suds. "There was this…poacher, at leas' I think that's what 'e was. He opened the gate at the wood-side an' a few'f the sheep got out. I 'ad t' go get 'em back."

"Oh, how awful! You went into the forest in the dark?"

"I couldn' lose the sheep," said Kitty. "An' anyways, I was armed so I went in. I brought 'em back an' everythin's fine."

"And the poacher?" Suzanne asked. "Who was he? Did you get a look at him?"

Kitty wrinkled her nose. "Eh, sort'f. He jumped out at meh but it was dark an' 'e were dressed funny. Like a beggar or fortune-teller or some'at. He didn' sound local neither. Oh, an' 'e 'ad this hat that made 'im look like one o' them highwaymen yeh get in books."

There was an odd squeal from behind the washing line before Suzanne coughed and answered, "It must've been so frightening! What happened then?"

"I d'know really. He jes' ran off."

"You must've scared him with that pistol. Kitty, what if you shot him and he's lying out there bleeding?"

"No," Kitty said almost too quickly. "No, I def'nitely missed 'im. Shot went up in the air. He wen' away an' I got back the sheep."

"You don't think he'll come back to try again, do you?" Suzanne said, anxiously. "Is it safe you going out tonight?"

Kitty hesitated and sloshed about in the tub as she considered. "If he comes back, I'm ready f'r 'im. If 'e brings friends, I'll run back 'ere. Mr Moore an' Paul c'n run 'im off. He weren't partic'larly big, jes' fast an' kind'f sneaky."

"Was he handsome?" Suzanne blurted.

"Wha-?" Kitty squeaked, nearly slipping as she climbed out of the bath. "No! I mean, I d'know. Bein' some'at preoccupied with preservin' m' life I didn' really have the time t' think'f some'at so addle-pated." She blinked away the memory of his piercing eyes and snatched a towel from one of the lines. "It was dark. I didn' see."

"I wish that had happened to me," Suzanne said wistfully.

"Yeh barkin'!" Kitty spluttered. "I'm done with anyways so yeh c'n come out. Gimme meh clothes back, an' my pistol."

Suzanne emerged with a bright smile and passed the bundle to Kitty's free hand.

Kitty glowered. "If yeh want t' do some'at useful about it, yeh c'n take meh wages an' buy meh more shot. That was the only one I 'ad." She turned up her nose and swanned to the door where she had to wait for the giggling Miss Moore to let her out.

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Having taken her morning supper and closed the curtains as tightly as they would go, Kitty slipped on a cloth nightdress and clambered into her guest bed. It was a cosy little room with quaint cross-stitch pictures in frames decorating the pastel walls. There was a small dresser in which she kept her few donated clothes and some pencil sketches in her own hand when she had the time. Kitty pulled the covers over her head to blot out the residual daylight and within the hour she was sleeping deeply.

Unaccustomed as she was to being abed at this time, she woke early. The light was not as harsh as it had been. Outside the sky had clustered with clouds and implied rain was shortly to follow. Kitty rolled over, blinked a few times and then scrambled upright, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. The man from the woods was sitting on her windowsill.

She glanced to her door but when she looked back he was pointing a pistol at her. Kitty glared.

"What d'yeh want?" she said quietly.

The reply came from behind a tattered blue scarf, "I came to return this." Her bonnet dropped onto the end of the bed.

Kitty observed him shrewdly. She noted two beaded beard tips poking out from the bottom of the mask. His hair was a mess of braids, plaits, thick locks and wiry frizz containing bits of thread and trinkets. A string of beads draped down past one of his temples; at the other was another string but with only one or two baubles attached. His clothes had patches sewn into them as though they had been through a great deal of wear and tear.

"Well en't that decen' of yeh?" she said. "Now please sod off."

He gave a breathy laugh. "That's it? Man risks life an' limb sneaking onto a farm in broad daylight, climbs up to fair maiden's room, slips the latch on a closed window, gets in without alerting a soul and she can't even summon up a lick of curiosity?"

"Lessee, yeh tried t' nick off with our sheep, scared meh t' death out in the forest an' now yeh're holdin' meh at gunpoint. Yeh can' expect meh t' be grateful."

The pistol tilted as he looked upon it. "Just a precaution, love. This shot is on standby for an old acquaintance, but should the need arise for me to use it at a premature moment, I rather doubt that they would notice its replacement."

Kitty scowled. "Now I'm even more comforted by y' company with the fac' yeh're waitin' t' kill someone. Jes' take the sheep an' don' come back."

The man rolled his eyes. "Far be it from me to be the bearer of disappointment, lass, but I didn't come here to negotiate the possession of walking wool caches. I 'ave brought back your misplaced head covering and all I ask for is a name."

Kitty panicked. Was he interrogating her about something he thought she knew? About the person he was looking to put a bullet in?

"I don' un'erstan'," she mumbled.

He stepped toward her and against her own volition she flinched. The gypsy-garbed man lowered his pistol. His eyes took on an apologetic nature. "_Your _name," he said, patiently.

"Oh…" Kitty looked at him uncertainly. "I'm sure yeh'd find it out if yeh did enough rootin'. 'S Kitty, Kitty Baker." A spluttering came from behind the scarf. She frowned. "'Scuse meh?"

"Apologies," he choked out. "But _'Kitty'_? A rather delicate appellation for a girl like you."

"'s short for Catherine if yeh must know an' how would you know anythin' about meh, eh?"

"Well…"

Whatever he was about to answer was swiftly cut off as Mrs Moore swung open the door and shrieked at the sight of the apparent robber. In the moment he was distracted, Kitty cried out, "Thank the stars yeh're here! 'E climbed in m' window an' started threatenin' meh!"

Mrs Moore dropped the lunch tray she had been carrying and rushed to pull Kitty from the room. "Help! Help! Intruder!" she bellowed loud enough for the whole household to hear.

The faux poacher scrambled back onto the windowsill and locked eyes with Kitty where she stood at the doorway, Mrs Moore's arm shielding her protectively. He pointed a grubby finger at her.

"You an' me, missy, we're not finished." He sheathed his pistol and dropped from the ledge.

Kitty gasped and broke free of Mrs Moore's grasp to look out of the window. There was a crash as her unnamed visitor rolled into the chicken pen and vaulted the fence into the main yard. She saw Mr Moore come running out with a shovel, shouting obscenities, but the masked man was too fast. Kitty's eyebrows rose at the bizarre sight he made in his sprint, arms cycling almost in time with his legs as if it helped him accelerate – or keep his balance. Mr Moore soon gave up the chase. With bewilderment, Kitty watched the intruder scarper out of sight, leaving a trail of feathers in his wake.


	8. Chapter 8

The Moores insisted that Alfred and Paul took shifts to carry out the duty of shepherding for the duration that the boy, Toby, was unwell. Kitty was disappointed, not least because of the mundane work to which she had to return. The evening of the day that the man from the woods had broken in she had been restless. Her body clock thrown off time, she stayed up sketching into the early hours. Her graphite stick worked feverishly, crafting images of cherry orchards and exotic jungles. Over the time she had spent at the farm, she had most often drawn harbours and ships on the ocean. One ship she sketched repeatedly, slaving over its detail. It was something of an obsession.

Her bed had been moved to Suzanne's room and the windows made more secure. Kitty kept her pistol, loaded once more, concealed at her bedside, but she heard no more from the masked visitor. For the rest of the week she was confined close to the farmhouse, feeding the hens; collecting eggs; helping Suzanne with the washing; baking bread with Mrs Moore; weeding the herb patches; grooming the horse and keeping the cottage in order. As soon as the sun set she remained indoors and kept in the company of Suzanne. Although Suzanne was a simple girl, Kitty found a friendship with her stronger than any she had ever known. Together they shared their secrets and dreams and on occasion whispered late into the night over slices of smuggled cake.

Suzanne frequently pressed Kitty to recall her past but the great fog that hung over Miss Baker's memories before she had been found wandering in the countryside seemed impenetrable. To assuage Miss Moore's curiosity, Kitty told her of her dreams, dreams of the sea, the ship in her pictures with the great beacons at its stern and its forlorn figurehead. If ever she had a bad dream it more often than not contained a vast open space of blinding white. In the end, Kitty chose not to tell Suzanne when she dreamt of these things for the blond maid worried that they concerned death and judgement. Sometimes Kitty even made up her dreams altogether. Suzanne was none the wiser. By the next week, the family felt that Kitty was safe enough to go out as far as the fields and wander after dark so long as she stayed close. The intruder's promise appeared to have been no more than an empty threat.

Breaking up the monotony of her settling lifestyle, one morning Mrs Moore sprained her ankle. She was not badly hurt but she was not fit to take the goods to market. Following short discussion, Kitty was permitted to go with Suzanne in Mrs Moore's stead. The two girls loaded up a barrow with loaves, cake, produce and a few sealed pitchers of fresh milk, and set off for town. The market was a few miles farther than the local village but, though the day was overcast, the rain withheld for their journey. Kitty was fascinated by the settlement. Compared to the sleepy homes near Moore Farm, the town was alive with mingled voices, swinging doors and trundling carts. Horse-drawn carriages clopped and grumbled along the cobbles, bearing wealthy travellers to and from their fabulous estates. Merchants hollered from their doorsteps with rosy, flustered faces and ragtag women cooed about the wares. It was not so much that Kitty liked the noise or the teeming streets but it was a welcome shock to the senses.

They set up their cart amidst the market stalls and smiled sweetly at passing shoppers. Suzanne was a natural seller as it turned out. She flounced around, batting her eyelashes, called out attention to their wares and still kept on good terms with the rival suppliers. They all knew her fondly and had idle news to share, which she accepted with relish. Kitty stood beside the cart at all times and tried not to look too awkward. Several of the market-goers took an interest in her, being a new face. At first she let Suzanne deal with any enquiries about her but gradually she gained the confidence to blurt out a rehearsed spiel of being related to old family friends.

Towards noon the marketplace buzzed with activity. Their cart was so swamped with prospective buyers that Kitty had to stand on top of it to better keep watch and work out the next customer in line. This got her a few catcalls from the local boys, one of which was suitably vulgar enough for her to select the most ill looking apple amongst their crop and send it hurtling after the culprit. It squashed a few feet ahead of him but it did make the rude youth slip in his escape.

"Kitty!" Suzanne gasped.

Miss Baker looked to the sky and twiddled her thumbs.

As the stock dwindled and the crowds in the marketplace began to lull, Suzanne beamed up at Kitty. "So how do you like coming to town?"

"Mad, 's absoluteleh mad. I d'know how yeh cope with all them lunatics pushin' an' shovin' an' wavin' at yeh. If I ever imagined the force'f two ol' ladies fightin' over one turnip I would'n've come close t' the truth."

Suzanne shrugged. "If people weren't stupid there'd be less reason for folk to laugh, and that would be a sad thing indeed."

"Now that's the cleverest thin' I've ever heard yeh say," Kitty snickered.

Suzanne stuck out her tongue before returning to her customers. Kitty giggled and set about counting up their earnings so far, adding in each handful of coins that Suzanne palmed across. She counted up the next lot that were passed and paused, a finger pointing at a round, bronze-coloured piece resting in her cupped hand. Kitty frowned.

"'Ey, this en't proper tender. This's Spanish or some'at," she exclaimed. She looked down at Suzanne and then glanced about for the last customer. "Who gave yeh this?" she spluttered.

Suzanne scanned the market and indicated a figure exiting the square of stalls.

"Watch the cart," Kitty instructed and, without waiting to see if Miss Moore protested, she leapt down from their stall and dashed after the fraud.

"Oi! Stop where y'are, yeh rott'n swindler!" she shouted once she had a clear line of sight.

Covered up in a tattered cloak, the thief hesitated mid-stride, inclined his head in her direction and then fled. Kitty scowled and gave chase, not caring that she had gained several gawping bystanders. She dodged rattling carriages and even the more insistent flower sellers, trying to keep track of her quarry. The figure feinted down an alley, past a number of squalid inns that reeked of pipe smoke and ale. She threw herself into the passageway and gritted her teeth. He was gone. Her gaze flitted to the windows overlooking the path, the steps to back doors and the corner at the alley's far end. Kitty sighed. What she had first assumed to be a pile of discarded rags and sackcloth sat up and extended a hand, offering forth an old tankard that jangled with change.

"Oh," said Kitty, with surprise. A little reluctantly she parted with a penny. "I don' s'pose yeh saw which way the man in the cloak went, did yeh?" she asked the beggar.

The head of the rag pile moved from side to side.

"Never mind then," she said with resignation and headed back towards Suzanne. She had taken several steps out of the alley when her brain gave her the message that the hand clasping the tankard had sported a silver ring with a large, green jewel. Kitty raced back to the path but the beggar had vanished. She stamped her foot and marched back to the market.

Suzanne had sold the last of the wares that were of any condition to be purchased and was tidying up the cart. "Any luck?" she asked.

Kitty shook her head. "He got away."

"Ah well, it happens sometimes. We'll have to be more careful next time."

Kitty smirked. "Yeh'd take meh out again?"

"Of course, now come on. We've got some things to buy before closing." Suzanne secured the cart and began to tow it through the square.

With the money they had earned the girls fetched flour and preserves before agreeing to sneak a look at a slightly more expensive quarter. Goldsmiths, tailors, bookshops and bric-a-brac shops stood to attention as they passed with wide eyes.

"Ooh look, Kitty!" Suzanne bounced excitedly at the window of a jewellers'. She pointed at a necklace set with rubies. "Isn't it lovely? What I wouldn't do to be one of those ladies as to afford such things."

Kitty sneered. "Ah, 's nothin' but gaudy rubbish. Whassa point'f wearin' some'at so costleh yeh're afraid t' wear it out an' about?"

"Don't be a sourpuss, Kitty."

Miss Baker left Suzanne to ogle the trinkets and began to browse the other stores. She loitered at the window of a tailor's boutique, her eyeline drawn to the dress on display. It was simple, ankle-length with a few ruffles at the bottom, and a rich dark green in colour. Beneath the square neckline of the bodice was a small black bow. Kitty narrowed her eyes at the gown, undecided as to whether she cared for it. She wanted it, but something nagged at the back of her mind that she might feel restricted in formal attire and she could feel rebelliousness against femininity bubbling under her surface. This was an unusual sensation when she could remember no basis for comparison.

Kitty moved on. In passing a bookshop she stopped inside and wandered past the shelves, enamoured with the sight of so many stories and topics nestling in every corner. It happened that she found a section on maritime tales. Her fingers caressed the columns, tilting the texts to read their covers. One in particular caught her attention. She plucked out the book entitled 'Legends of the Caribbean' and stared at the image engraved on its front – a black ship, just like the one in her dreams. Catching her breath momentarily, Kitty took the book to the counter.

"I'd like t' borrow this, please," she said determinedly.

The scrawny librarian peered down at her. "I don't think this sort of material is suited to young ladies. I must protest and recommend something less frightful and pertaining to fancies."

Kitty glared at him firmly. "If 's because I can't afford it yeh c'n tell meh, but don't presume t' dissuade meh otherwise, sirrah. This is what I want t' take out, an' if that en't right by yeh, I'll take meh earnin's elsewhere."

"Very good," he replied. "Sixpence. A month."

Kitty paid him, bobbed an unpractised curtsey and took her leave.

"Oh there you are, Kitty," said Suzanne when she rejoined her company. "What have you got there?"

"A book."

"What sort of -?"

Kitty slipped the text into the cart. "If yeh promise not t' tell yeh mum or dad, I'll show yeh later."

Having gathered everything they needed from the town, they travelled the long trail home.

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When all the evening's work had been done, Kitty stayed up late with the book that she had smuggled into Suzanne's room. Candlelight at her bedside, she thumbed carefully through the pages, drinking in the fables. Tales of ghosts and shipwrecks, curses and sea monsters absorbed vividly enough to keep her awake regardless of her choosing. She reached the chapter that covered the illustration on the book's front cover and for that night cared to read no more. Kitty rummaged quietly through her drawer and retrieved the parchments upon which she had sketched. She laid them alongside the open book on her bed and straightened out the creases.

"Kitty?" Suzanne's voice was croaky from sleep. "Are you still reading?" She noticed the expression on Kitty's face. "Kitty? What's the matter?" Suzanne rubbed her eyes and got out of bed. She trudged over to Miss Baker.

"They're the same," said Kitty.

"Hmm?"

Kitty turned the book and one of her sketches around to show Suzanne. Miss Moore covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. The picture on the opened pages was of a black ship surrounded by mist. Its figurehead was an angelic figure, one arm extended to release a dove. The sails were tattered and ancient. Both girls looked from the book to Kitty's drawing and saw the ship was identical.

"Suzie…" Kitty whispered. "This is the ship I keep dreamin' of. Why is it here? What's it doin' in this book?"

Suzanne shook her head. "I-I don't know, Kitty. What does it say about it?"

"'S a ghost ship, sort'f. Its crew were cursed after stealin' Aztec gold. Says they were turned t' skeletons that couldn' die an' they raided the coasts of the Caribbean, led by a pirate called Barbossa."

"That's nonsense!" said Suzanne. "Do you suppose you were told the story when you were a child?"

"I don't remember. How c'd I draw some'at I've never seen an' get everythin' right?"

"For goodness sake, Kitty, put it away before we both get nightmares."

Kitty wasn't listening. She traced the surface of the pages and muttered the name of the ship that sailed through her thoughts.

"The Black Pearl."


	9. Chapter 9

Another week went by and brought with it the first stages of autumn. Wrapped up in a shawl against the chill, her bonnet on once more, Kitty swept away the leaves that had gathered uninvited upon the doorstep over the course of the morning. The Moore ladies had been only too happy to relinquish as many outdoor activities as possible in order to avoid the cold. Kitty was unfazed. Although her fingers and nose were numb she enjoyed the merits of the season. The air was crisp and fresh, and the leafy ground crackled pleasantly underfoot. Done with the broom, she returned it to the cupboard just inside the cottage door and took up an empty pail.

Kitty crossed the yard to the large barn and led the cow from her stall. She secured the beast before a trough and took up the milking stool at the cow's side. It was becoming less difficult now. The cow was at last adjusting to Kitty's presence and seldom moved from her position whilst the young woman worked. It had taken some teaching for Kitty to get the technique of how to bring forth the milk. Mimicking the tug of a feeding calf with hands was a bizarre experience. Occasionally she felt uncertain of the cow's perspective on this invasive matter but in the end she decided that, were the cow so bothered, she would have hoofed Kitty in the face long before. Miss Baker scooted closer to her work, grateful for the nearby warmth of the cow's body. To help ignore the cold, she hummed to herself a lullaby from a time she had forgotten.

"The thought occurs there would be not one of the town boys wouldn't wager 'alf 'is week's wage just to get a glimpse of a milkmaid at work."

Kitty's fingers paused at the udders at the onset of his voice. She was lucky in that she had not squeezed too hard out of surprise. By its conclusion her face whitened. She could not bring herself to continue working but did not turn around. The voice had come from a higher level, presumably up in the hayloft. "Leave meh alone," she said.

The response was bubbling with conceit. "Is that really what you want?"

"Yes!"

"In that case I'll stay put."

Kitty got up and spun around. Sure enough there was her unwelcome visitor perched beside the top of the ladder to the barn's attic. His buckled boots dangled restlessly. She spat out her retort: "An' if I'd said otherwise, I assume yeh'd still be 'ere, so why the blazes did yeh bother askin'?"

The man stared at her and smiled behind his disguise. It wasn't a chaste smile. "You set the farm after me. That wasn't very nice."

"'S what yeh deserve," she growled.

"So quick to condemn," he said. "Was the return of your bonnet not sufficient for a pardon?"

Kitty felt the blade of her quartz knife itching to be taken from the sheath upon her hidden garter. "'S your fault I lost it in the firs' place an' I don' think I need remind yeh that yeh pointed a pistol in m' face."

He smirked unseen. "And yet you _do _remind me."

"Why are yeh followin' meh?" Kitty snarled. "If 's money yeh want, we en't got any t' spare so yeh'd be best settin' y' sights on the estates. Alternativeleh, if yeh've taken some sort'f fancy, yeh c'n forget it. For th' sake'f the good souls about this farm I'd settle f'r no less than a gen'leman, else put shame upon 'em. I 'ave no time f'r yeh type."

"What, pray tell, ismy type, Miss Baker?"

Kitty sighed irritably. "I d'know. A vagrant or some'at. A low-livin' scrounger without honest occupation."

"You know me so well and still I remain nameless to you. Is that not terribly unchivalrous?"

"I don' need t' know yeh name. I'm thankful yeh don' even show yeh face!"

"Whyever would I reveal myself to you?"

Kitty's fists clenched. "All it takes is one yell from meh an' everyone'll come runnin'."

Quiet laughter came from behind the scarf. "Then why have you not already called?"

"Mebbeh I believe I c'n handle yeh by m'self."

"Or is it simply that you _want _to?"

She could not suppress an anguished growl at his persistent rhetoric. "The pickin's en't so easy as yeh think up 'ere. Yeh're a long way from London, sirrah."

"So are you," he countered.

"I en't from London," she snapped.

"But you ain't from here, are you?"

"Wossat matter? I belong 'ere now. 'S home." As though to reassure herself, Kitty stroked the fuzzy flank of the cow.

"Hogwash," he said, causing her to glare at him sharply. "Lie all you want, missy, I'll even encourage it, but you're fooling none but y'self. A girl like you does not aspire to potter about a farm'ouse for the rest of 'er days nor trade it for the quiet prison of a silk stocking's stately hall. You want for the outside, the life of the wild."

"Bah, I care naught f'r it. Here I'm safe from danger, relatively speakin'. 'S unforgivin' out there an' rife with your sorts."

"My sort do not tend to wander this far inland."

Kitty's eyes blinked wide. The connotation provided by his tri-cornered hat sank in. It required much more spatial capacity than a coach-robber's. The tan of his skin could not have been attributed to this mild climate. She saw him for what he was and tasted the sour tang of fear upon her tongue. Bar the cow, she was standing alone in a barn with a man who was almost undoubtedly a killer. What count of innocents had he robbed, or slain? How much depravity had he committed? How many young women had he taken against their will? Her silence shouted its recognition. The pirate dropped down from the rafters and straightened to his full, albeit less than average, height. On instinct's orders, she discarded modesty and drew her knife from its sheath.

"Stay away!" she warned.

He put up his hands in casual surrender. She noticed both a sword and pistol at his belt. That he had reached for neither only increased her unease. Her gaze never left him as he sidestepped with his back to the barn's wall. He edged around until he was only feet away from the cow's trough. The dairy beast's ears flicked worriedly at his presence. Kitty watched him with suspicion but was unable to predict his next move. He jumped into direct view of the cow, peeled back his mask for an instant and exhaled into its face. The poor beast lowed in distress and attempted to escape. It upset the trough it had been tied to and kicked the milking stool into the back of Kitty's legs. The pirate was quick enough on his feet to catch her as she collapsed, snatching the wrist of her dagger-wielding hand. He scuttled her back from the fretful cow, as the beast gradually regained its docile normality.

With Kitty struggling uselessly, he gave her knife a cursory inspection. "That is a _fascinating_ weapon. Not some'ing one is accustomed to finding in the grip of a farm'and, ay?" Pinching her wrist tight, his other hand let her balance slip and pushed back the sleeve on her outstretched arm until he revealed the weathered skin of her brand. "Ahh, and here lies the proof."

Any hope she had of screaming had been dashed with its discovery. If she had called for help now, he could expose her, and she could not bear what the Moores might think of her or what they would do.

"Who are yeh?" Kitty whined, steeling against the pain in her wrist.

"Smith," he said. "Some what earn it call me Smithy."

Kitty glowered. "Yeh don' look like a Smith."

"You don't particularly strike me as a Baker." He wrested the knife from her and flicked it up into the hayloft. Then he allowed her to get back to her feet. She pulled away from him, mildly surprised that he had released her. She observed him cautiously.

"Yeh know meh from before. Before I forgot. Don' yeh?"

He appeared confused, or feigned it. "Your memories I cannot help you with. I was merely led by intuition toward a kindred spirit."

"Yeh intuition c'n hang f'r all it's worth," Kitty grumbled. "I en't like yeh, an' however I got this…_thing_!" She jabbed a finger at her brand. "Musta been a mistake or a sick jest."

He shrugged. "There be plenty so-called innocents wrongfully marked, even for so much as talking to a pirate." He spoke the word with boastful indulgence.

She snorted. "Then they sh'd sew yeh mouth shut before yeh condemn anyone else."

His lack of reply suggested he was grinning. Kitty felt herself overcome with a maddening curiosity. She stepped toward him and made a grab for the scarf that shielded his face. He arched back to avoid her hand and snatched it. He was ready for the other. Grappling both of her hands, he pulled her close. Kitty gasped with fear. His ripened scent, permeated with salt and a trace of sweet liquor, made her head spin, yet his eyes conveyed none of the sluggishness that came with insobriety.

"I en't sorry I nearly killed yeh in the forest," she spouted. "Or f'r getting' yeh run off the farm. If yeh goin' t' show everyone the mark, yeh best get it over with. I won' have yeh use it agains' meh in any other fashion. 'Sides, yeh're probably the reason I got the dratted thin'!"

His eyes averted for an instant. "Whether you reveal yourself or not is your burden, love. There is no profit in it for me."

"Then what are yeh doin' here? Why are yeh tormentin' meh?" she said almost pleadingly.

"I was tracking the one for whom my shot is reserved. Got wind they'd passed through these parts before the trail went cold. Per'aps they 'ave eluded me for good. I trawled the land in the event I might root them out. Instead I found you. No offence, missy, but the bronzing of your skin hardly matches the pale hides of the natives. When you took to shepherding I staged the rendezvous."

Kitty tried to pull away. "But I can' 'elp yeh. I d'know anythin' about pirates, leas'ways not that I remember. I en't got a past t' talk of an' yeh can' get it out of meh even if yeh tried. Tried enough m'self."

"Then it seems we share a common goal."

"Whassat?"

"We both wish to discover more about Kitty Baker." His grip loosened.

"There en't any more t' learn. I'm leavin' it lie. Yeh'll 'ave t' look elsewhere f'r answers, or en'ertainment, or whatever it is yeh're wantin'." She broke free once more and marched solemnly for the half-filled bucket of milk that had miraculously survived the cow's frolic. She would have to ask the stable-hand, Paul, to help right the trough. The finding of her dagger could wait.

Kitty walked calmly, but rigidly, to the barn door. Looking out at the peaceful farmyard, she said, "Yeh bes' leave this place, _Smith_, afore yeh get one'f us killed." Against her better judgement, she turned her head, readying to look back. She inhaled sharply, sure she had felt the trace of a hand at her shoulder – but he was gone again. Kitty was beginning to hate him, and that worried her more than anything he could possibly do.


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: _**_Please R&R if you can, darlin's. Reviews make the writer goofy and pen-happy._

_

* * *

_The next morning did not pass smoothly. Kitty had hardly slept for mulling over her last encounter with Smith. She feared he would resurface at any moment and even the reinforced windows offered little comfort. She did not trust that he had taken her at her word and gone. Not if he thought she knew something. Perhaps that was why he had not harmed her. The anxiety made her jump at every sound and exhaustion made her clumsy. She had not told Suzanne anything about what had happened. Her brand itched beneath her sleeve, but it was only in her mind. It felt much harder to hide.

To add to her troubles there had apparently been a storm during the course of the night. The soggy grass and trodden mud were to be expected but a great gust of wind had blown the laundry from the outside line that Suzanne used for drying general everyday clothes. In collecting the strewn garments Miss Moore discovered that Kitty's dress was nowhere to be found. Kitty resorted to borrowing one of Suzanne's, pinning it up at the hem so as not to trip on the larger skirt. The restriction of her movements drove her to frustration until all she could ask for was to be allowed to do as many sit-down chores as possible until she could afford a new dress. This mostly left her with laundry folding, darning and milking. Now when she had to go to the barn she took her pistol with her, ensuring it was kept secret from the family so as not to raise inconvenient questions.

The one exception to her daily routine was going to the market. After too long being cooped up in the house, Kitty braved the jeers and gossip about her oversized clothes just to get another taste of the town life. As usual she took her place standing on the cart to better watch the supplies and keep an eye out for suspicious customers.

"Ooh, Kitty," Suzanne exclaimed one morning at the stall. "There's going to be another fair next week! You must come with me. There'll be music and dancing and roast chestnuts, and it'll go on until evening so there'll be pretty lanterns out!"

Kitty grimaced. "Big gatherin's en't my pleasure, 'specially not dancin'. I don' really know how an' I en't sure I'd like it."

Suzanne giggled. "Silly thing, you don't need to know how. You let the boys move you about. Sometimes some of the gentlemen from the estates come out and join in if they think a lady looks proper enough!"

"There's good enough reason f'r meh not to then. I en't proper, I don' much look proper without anythin' t' wear an' as far as catchin' the eye'f some stuck up twerp is concerned I think 'm better suited t' bein' a spinster."

"Oh don't say such things. Your face is far too pretty to live alone. It would look better though if you got some rest for a change. If you stopped reading that awful book, you probably wouldn't be kept awake so much."

Kitty could not prevent her temper flaring a little. "'m fine, Suzie, jes' leave it. I en't got anythin' t' wear so I en't goin'. There en't any more to it. Yeh c'n go without meh."

* * *

The week went by quickly. The mere fact that Kitty did not want the fair to happen caused its arrival to be all the sooner. She had felt detached for the last few days, as though tiny patches of memory were evading her. She wondered if the farm work was slowly pushing her sanity, for she found herself forgetting what she had and hadn't done. She would take a basket out, collect the eggs from the hens and put the basket down. Then she would turn her back to secure the coop and, in reaching down for the basket, would find it had disappeared. After a few minutes of frantic searching and mild tantrums she would retire to the kitchen and find the full basket sitting on the table.

There had been a few occasions where she had arrived at the barn and the cow was already standing at the trough as though she had forgotten to return her to her stall the previous night. It drove her to tears. Paranoia suggested she was going to lose yet more of her past and there was nothing she could do. The day she cried outside was the day it stopped happening.

* * *

The morning of the fair arrived. Kitty overslept. When Suzanne blustered in and spilled a flurry of woven straw dollies on the floor Kitty peeled off the blankets from her face and squinted through her eyelashes at the morning light. Realising that the sun should not have been glaring in so harshly if it was early, she sat up in a tangle of sheets.

"Christ lookit! Why di'n't yeh wake meh?"

"Sorry Kitty," said Suzanne, on her knees trying to gather the dollies. "You said all week you wouldn't go so I thought you'd like to lie in."

"I don' mind, Suzie. I don' need treatin' delicate f'r bein' left out. I'd 'ave a rott'n time in any fashion. I en't goin' t' be alone anyways. Mr Moore an' Paul're 'ere."

"Sorry," Suzanne said again. Kitty sighed and slid off the end of the bed to help collect the straw knickknacks. The girls nearly dropped the whole lot in surprise as Mrs Moore burst in, face red with excitement, a large box in her hands.

"Kitty! Why are you hardly out of bed? Brush that hair, wash your face and scrub your shoes!"

"Eh?"

"You're going to the fair aren't you?"

"No. What yeh got in that atrocious thin' anyways?"

"Take a look yourself!" said Mrs Moore. "It was delivered not ten minutes ago. I'm afraid curiosity got the better of me and I opened it first but it's addressed to you. You'll have to go to the fair now. Open it!"

Kitty pulled a face at the box in the manner of one who didn't wish to be the next Pandora. She took it from Mrs Moore and sat on the bed with it. She pushed off the lid with its horribly gaudy bow and peered inside. Kitty stared, stunned. It was the green dress from the tailor shop. Suzanne gasped and stuck her face in close to see.

"Will you look at that? Kitty, you must have an admirer, a well-to-do one! Oh I'm so jealous, you mustn't refuse to come with us now. If you'd been coming anyway I would be sorely put out that you'd be out-dressing me, but this is wonderful! Put it on, put it on!"

Kitty kept on staring at it, not taking it from the box. She did not smile nor show any sense of gratitude. "Aw'ight," she said quietly. "Gerrout of 'ere then so I c'n try it."

"But don't you need someone to lace up the back for you?" Suzanne piped.

"I c'n manage an' don' get yeh hopes up. It might'n't fit. If I have need, I'll call yeh."

Suzanne wrung her hands in glee and hurried her mother out of the room with her. Kitty looked despairingly at the gift. Who had bought it and how did they know she had been looking at it? Was it just a coincidence? It was beautiful but the thought of wearing something offered by a stranger felt like stepping into a baited trap. Was that someone wanting her to go to the fair? She didn't want to be so predictable. Why would someone spend so much for her anyway? Unless, whoever had got it hadn't spent a penny… No. She wouldn't be able to wear it in public without the tailor's notice. It had to be someone with money. That ruled out her first suspicion.

A sadness came over Kitty as she remembered that the sleeves were too short to cover her arms and to hide her brand. She would not be able to wear it anyway. She lifted it out of its nest to see it in full form. She caught a glimpse of something at the bottom of the box; something black. It was a pair of long, dark gloves, folded neatly. Her distrust increased, another lucky happenstance? Yet, hope stirred guiltily within her. Kitty hurried to the window and drew the curtains. She slipped out of her nightdress and carefully pulled the frock over her head. Her arms delved through the sleeves with ease and not a part of the garment pinched. She had expected the dress to be too long for her small stature but the measurements were impeccable. Her unknown giftgiver had guessed her sizing with frightening accuracy. She tightened the lacings as best she could without help and picked out the gloves. They came to a halt just before her elbows, obscuring the brand entirely.

"Kitty, can we see yet?" Suzanne called from beyond the door.

"Aw'ight."

The door opened slowly and the Moore ladies peered in. Their lips curved into wide smiles at the sight of her.

"Oh you look lovely!" Suzanne remarked.

"Something must be done about that hair," Mrs Moore tutted. "Don't look so defensive. What about your bonnet?"

"I don' like bonnets," Kitty said sullenly.

"You can't talk like a lady but you can at least look like one."

Kitty insisted, "No bonnet."

"A ribbon?" Suzanne suggested. She moved behind Kitty to fasten the laces of her dress properly.

Kitty pulled a face. "I en't wearin' a bow."

"It doesn't have to tie into a bow. It'll look pretty. We'll get you a green one at the fair."

Kitty grumbled until a sharp tug from Suzanne, as she finished the lacings, made her cough.

"There you go!" Miss Moore announced and shoved Kitty before a mirror.

Miss Baker gasped. "What have yeh done t' meh?" She goggled at the image in the glass and then looked down at her bosom. "What have yeh done t' _those_?"

"Hush, they're not showing. The bodice just supports them. Gives them some emphasis."

"_Some _emphasis?" Kitty squawked. "I don' want t' be this emphatic."

"You'll be the talk of the town," Suzanne exclaimed.

"That's what I'm afraid'f."

***********************************************************

It was noon by the time Kitty set off with Suzanne and Mrs Moore. Laden with baskets of baked goods and the straw dollies, they graced the town in their best dresses. Kitty kept her eyes to the cobblestones; nervous to meet the faces of anyone she passed. The town itself was delirious, drunk on its own frivolity. Music from pipes, fiddles and tambourines wafted like an aroma, streams of coloured paper hung from windows and stretched across roofs. Carriages rattled here and there, depositing richer folk come to experience the amusements of the country peasants. Jugglers, jokers and other street entertainers mingled with the lively scene.

The Moores took advantage of the bustling streets, offering their goods at a range of haggled prices depending on the wealth of the customer, attracting more than one of the visiting gentry. Suzanne stole Kitty away long enough to purchase the promised ribbon, which she used to make a plain, but attractive, band in Kitty's hair. The green matched near enough to her dress and enhanced the allure of her eyes. Miss Baker was more than reluctant to meet anyone's gaze.

Late afternoon drew in and they had reached as much profit as they were to achieve that day. The crowds were moving on from the closing stalls and taking more interest in the music that had become the highlight of the fair. A great portion of the town square had been fenced off for the purpose of a dance. Fiddles and an accordion jostled out energetic tunes that got the partnered people whirling and laughing. It was all too loud and flashy for Kitty. For several hours she had been trying desperately to avoid the stares of the local boys. Sick to the stomach with it, she attempted to hide without ending up compromisingly alone. Finding a spot behind a shut stall, Kitty was able to peek out at the event without needing to take part.

A hand tapped her arm and she jumped visibly.

"I am sorry, I did not intend to startle you."

She turned and looked into the face of a young man who could barely have been more than a few years her elder. His face was clean-shaven, his hair was a neat mop of blond with a small pilgrim hat perched on top, and he wore a silver frockcoat. He was most definitely not one of the townsfolk. Kitty said nothing but gave him her attention.

"Ginson Woldham. I pass through this town sometimes. I've seen you at the market with your sister and, well, you intrigue me. I have to say I would not have dared approach you if you had not looked so much like anyone would whisk away such beauty."

Kitty flushed. This annoyed her, so she flushed deeper. "Suzanne en't my sister," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

She cleared her throat and attempted to inject some class into her speech. "Miss Moore an' I are not sisters. We're…er…cousins. I'm Kitty Baker."

"A pleasure to officially meet you, Miss Baker. May I say your gown is astonishing?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. I shall pass that on whenever I find out who bought it f'r meh. I en' – am not 'customed t' havin' anonymous gifts delivered t' meh."

Mr Woldham seemed nervous for a moment before he burst out with a smile. "Then look no further for I am he who sent it. It appears my judgement that it would become you was not misplaced."

Kitty slitted her eyes shrewdly. "Did yeh come t' speak t' the dress or the girl in it?"

"Neither. I came to ask for a dance, not to speak, and I am asking a lady, not a girl."

"Yeh like yeh flattery, don' yeh?" Kitty said haughtily.

"Dance with me? Please?"

"Fine, but yeh'll go home with bruised feet." Kitty offered her hand, keeping her interest hidden, and allowed Ginson to lead her into the dance.

He danced well. Whenever Kitty stumbled he took it easily in his stride and was always gentle. Ginson's rhythm was fluid and lulling, giving her a strange sensation of weightlessness. She learned that he was from one of the estates not ten miles from the town and that the Woldham family owned several houses in England and one in France. Ginson did not learn much in return, however. He was interested in her connection to the Moore family and tried to coax greater detail on her lineage but she merely smiled and leant in closer to him. It was easier to hide in his arms than to leave the floor.

Night had fallen and the lanterns hung from every shop front, speckling the dark with their glow. Having retired from dancing, Kitty and Ginson had retreated to the edge of the marketplace, hand in hand. For at least an hour they conversed, taking sport in watching the other dancers and commenting on their splendour or silliness accordingly. It was not long before one couple in particular caught her gaze. The girl was Suzanne and her partner was surprisingly noble in attire. The man dancing with Miss Moore wore an enormous white wig that boasted aristocracy. His greatcoat smothered him from shoulder to ankle, giving the impression of a scrawny barrister.

Soon enough Suzanne parted from her partner, her hand lingering in his, and broke off to rush to Kitty. "Do excuse me," she said to Ginson. "May I steal Kitty for a while?"

"By all means," the young man replied. He gave Kitty's hand a promising squeeze. She presented a small smile and took her leave.

"Kitty, isn't this the most wonderful night? What do you think of Mr Woldham? He's taken quite the fancy!"

Kitty looked over at Ginson who waved immediately. "He's…nice," she murmured.

"Nice?"

"I don' think I c'n push it any further than that," Kitty said. She animated herself and changed the subject. "Woss with you anyways? Who's the wig?"

Suzanne snorted a laugh. "You are rude, Kitty! I think I may have outdone you after all. You mustn't faint but I've gained the attentions of, you'll never guess, a _lord_! Can you believe it?"

"A lord? Christ, Suzie!" Privately, and with much inner scolding, she thought, _what lord would want simple Suzanne?_

"Kitty!"

"'Scuse, but what d'yeh mean a 'lord'?"

"I mean exactly that. He's rich, powerful, titled…he's so eloquent too and so very charming. He likes me, Kitty! Me, of all people!"

Kitty was dumbfounded. "Who is he?"

Suzanne was already seeking him out amongst the dance, in which he had chosen to remain a part. She bade Kitty stay whilst she fetched him and within minutes had brought her prize back to Miss Baker.

"Isn't he unique?" Suzanne whispered to Kitty. "The fiendish look is supposed to be all the rage in the West Indies. It's where he's from, you know." Turning so that she stood between the judge-like man and Miss Baker, Suzanne gave the introduction. "Kitty, I would like you to meet Lord Jonathan Passer."

But Kitty hardly took in the sound of Suzanne's voice as she stared into the poker face of the man in the lawman's wig.

"_Smith_?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **_Extra long chappie just to get a taste of our favourite 'birdie' on the scene._

* * *

It had to be him. Even though she had not seen Smith's face in its entirety, this man's familiarity slammed through her senses like a childhood memory. Surely the fork-like quality of his beard was not so common? It could not have taken much effort to remove the beads. The wig was more than large enough to stuff his dreadlocks into and slide the bandanna out of sight, and his eyes, those devious eyes; they were the same. The circles of kohl were hardly visible, but they were there.

"Beg pardon, my lady?" Lord Passer responded. His expression betrayed nothing. His voice could have been Smith's but the coarse accent had evaporated. Was it possible that a fashion had caught on amongst the elevated classes? Kitty did not want to doubt herself. If it was Smith, what was she to do about it? She could not expose him here for he would only return the favour.

"Nothin', sirrah," she said but gave him a pointed stare. "I jes' feel like I've seen yeh somewhere before. Must jes' be that yeh have a common face. Can't have everythin' I s'pose."

Suzanne's cheeks drained. "Kitty!"

Lord Passer patted her shoulder. "Worry not, Miss Moore. I am sure your friend is simply a tad edgy. I suspect she is not familiar with grand to-dos such as this. Nerves are wanton to toy with the intricacies of etiquette, are they not?"

Suzanne seemed pacified but she looked imploringly at Kitty. Swallowing back her contempt, Kitty offered a hand to shake.

"Charmed, Lord Passer."

Passer perplexed her by tipping her palm downwards and kissing the back of her gloved hand. "Honoured, Miss Baker." This was madness. It _had _to be him. Coincidences like this were impossible. What was he playing at? As they excused themselves and resumed dancing, Kitty felt herself fume. She wanted to scream at Suzanne that he was a charlatan but even if she got her alone she probably wouldn't believe her. Nonetheless, she tried to get to Suzanne again over the next few hours and was thwarted every time. Passer was with Suzanne constantly, smiling sickeningly, tangling Miss Moore securely in his web. The one instance that Suzanne was free, Kitty started forward and was at once cut off in her path by Ginson.

"Miss Baker, forgive me. Have I displeased you?"

"Wha-? No," Kitty blurted. "No, sirrah. I jes'- just was concerned f'r Suzanne. The man she's dancin' with, I don' trust him."

Ginson scanned the dancers until he noted Passer. "I have never seen him before. New to the area, is he? Or visiting perhaps?"

"Per'aps." She relented on giving information in the hope that Mr Woldham could do the same. "He says his name is Lord Passer. Are yeh familiar with 'is circles?"

Ginson smiled. "I cannot say I am an expert, but I have not heard of him. Possibly he is new to the title? Curious name, 'Passer'. Latin for 'sparrow', I believe. Not very noble sounding, is it?" He chuckled.

Kitty was barely listening, trying to track Passer and Suzanne's movements. Mr Woldham clasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. "I am sure they are fine, Miss Baker. Is Mrs Moore not watching after all?" She followed his gaze to the southern edge of the square where Mrs Moore stood, a delighted smile upon her face as she watched her daughter gallivant with a supposed lord. "Put aside your mistrust, if I may not offend you to ask," said Ginson. "All will be well, I promise. I should very much like your company for a while."

Kitty met his gaze. The young man had a captivatingly honest face. He took her hand and she felt its warmth through her glove. He made her feel safe. She allowed herself to dance with him once again, sinking into the soothing rhythm of his guidance. Kitty laid her head at Ginson's collar and closed her eyes. Maybe there was something more stirring within her. She drifted, contented, and even forgot Suzanne.

* * *

When at last her feet could bear no more dancing, Ginson walked her home. "Thank y' for tonight, sirrah." She kept her eyes cast down to keep from stumbling in her tiredness. "I think with time I'll learn t' not worry 'alf so much."

"You are doing splendidly and it is you who must be thanked. It would please me if we could further get to know one another. Should you like it if I were to visit you at the farm? I can introduce myself to the Moores and perhaps when all is well you would be permitted to travel to my own home? I think you would like it."

Kitty was stunned. "I…eh…I s'pose yeh c'n visit the farm whenever yeh like. Mind I work though an' it gets terrible messy. I think yeh wouldn' like meh when yeh saw the grimy stuff what goes on at the farm. There's muckin' an' milkin' an' scrubbin' an' scourin' an' gibletin'…" Ginson cupped her face in the palm of his hand and turned it to face his. She trailed off.

"You are quite adorable, Miss Baker."

Kitty flushed and fought against the feeling of being patronised. "Ah, gerr'out of it!" She turned away and walked on, approaching the farm. He caught up with her. "En't there some'at against higher classes minglin' with the lowborn?" she asked.

Ginson shrugged. "My family is not sufficiently well-connected for its business to mar the reputation of another. I may do as I please."

Kitty managed a smile. "Well en't yeh the convenience, Mr Woldham?"

They reached the doorstep of the cottage. Ginson stopped her and turned her about to admire her shape. "You are beautiful."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "That'd be the dress. You're t' thank f'r that."

"If it is for the dress your beauty shines then a thousand more shall you have."

"Don' tease meh."

"Forgive me, Miss Baker…Kitty, I will let you retire and I hope to see you again before too long." He planted a kiss upon her cheek, tipped his hat and took his leave. His transport had followed them, it seemed, for when he reached the farm gate he clambered into a waiting carriage and was borne away.

Somewhat stupefied, Kitty went indoors and sought out her bed. Suzanne's was empty. Her worries began to resurface. She resisted the urge to go back out and look for Miss Moore but refused to go to sleep. With little else to pass the time she lit a candle, one of her last remaining, and leafed through the borrowed book once more. She reached a chapter concerning some of the most notorious pirates on record for the Caribbean. She read the tale of Davy Jones, the sailor so besotted with a sea goddess that he bound himself in service to her and carved out his heart to escape the agony of love. There was yet more on the subject of Barbossa and his _Black Pearl_, varying accounts of him being sighted raiding ports. Whether or not he was still supposed to be at large Kitty could not determine. The book had been written three years prior.

Before Kitty was too tired to read on she came across a selection of tales centralising around another pirate. The stories were nothing more than absurd fantasies involving spectacular escapes on the shells of sea turtles; pillaging towns without firing a shot; infiltrating Canterbury cathedral as a cleric; and single-handedly uniting two warring countries through kidnapping their princesses, both of whom coincidentally became devoted to him and bestowed lavish gifts upon him. She sneered at the unbelievable plots and was not surprised to find that there was no illustration of the pirate responsible. The amusement fell from her face, however, when she read his name.

* * *

It was one o' clock when the bedroom door opened and Suzanne emerged. Kitty sat up at once and gawped at what she could make out. "Suzie? What 'appened? Wossat all in y'r 'air? Izzat _leaves_?"

Suzanne gasped at her voice. "Oh Kitty, you mustn't tell Mother. I've had a wonderful night!"

Kitty looked at her sternly. "How did Mrs Moore let yeh stay out t' this hour?"

"She didn't." Suzanne gave a childish giggle. "We followed her home but slipped out again when she thought we were bidding farewell."

"Yeh don't even know 'im!"

"Twaddle. There's not a dangerous bone in him. At least, not one I couldn't be besotted with." Suzanne sighed and pirouetted towards Kitty's bed before she perched upon its end. "Don't be angry with me, please? Didn't you have a good time with Mr Woldham?"

"_I _didn't run off in the middle of the night with 'im. What were yeh thinkin'? He didn't…" Kitty fumbled with her words. "Yeh didn't…with him, did yeh?"

"Of course we didn't!" Suzanne burst out crossly. "How dare you think so ill, Kitty! He was perfectly civil…" She hesitated. "Well, sometimes he said things that I don't think were entirely appropriate, but he was ever so quick to realise and made amends, and I didn't really mind anyway. Kitty, don't look at me that way. I can feel your eyes burning."

More than ever Kitty was sure that Suzanne's new suitor was Smith and the anger emerged with hot tears. She was glad it was too dark for Suzanne to see. "What d'yeh expect meh t' think?" she snarled. "Yeh come back like this bringin' half the forest with yeh like yeh'd been violated or some'at. He en't no good f'r yeh, Suzie, he en't what 'e seems. He's the man that climbed in m' window, I know it. Lookit what he's done t' yeh. Yeh look like a _whore_!"

It was too late for Kitty to bite her tongue. For a few seconds the shocked silence hung in the air and all she could hear was the thud of her own heartbeat. Suzanne rose from where she sat and looked down her nose at Kitty.

"Don't make up cruel lies just to feel better about Woldham. Jealousy does not become you. As for my appearance, I can only say I prefer it to dressing above my station like some tawdry trollqueen!" She strode for the dresser and, paying no more heed to Kitty for the duration of the night, she combed out her hair and got into bed.

Miss Baker undressed, trembling. She almost hated Suzanne for being so idiotic but the sound of the young blonde's sobs, muffled under blankets, stung as much as her words had. Kitty felt more alone than sitting outside with the sheep.

* * *

The next day they barely spoke. Kitty placed the dress she had borrowed upon Suzanne's bed and did her chores in the expensive gown.

"Kitty! What on earth are you doing wearing that?" Mrs Moore wailed. "You'll ruin it. Get out of it at once!"

Kitty refused. "'S too good f'r meh. I need t' bring it down to m' level." So she worked and worked, letting the skirt achieve a tear and the gloves and front become dusty. She did not care what Ginson would think if he saw her.

Over the following weeks she heard nothing from Mr Woldham. She did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Most troubling of all was Suzanne's behaviour. Miss Moore would disappear from the laundry room for at least an hour a day and would return looking flustered and with a secret smile that would vanish the moment Kitty walked in. Some late evenings Suzanne would creep out and back in again, being a lot more clumsy than she believed. One night as she pretended to sleep, Kitty caught a glimpse of something shining at Suzanne's throat. She watched silently as Miss Moore admired herself in the mirror and then hid the treasure in her dresser.

Kitty made sure Suzanne had long since begun her chores the next morning before she slipped into their room under the pretence of changing the sheets. Closing the door, she crouched before Miss Moore's dresser and opened the drawer in which she had seen the item placed. Kitty sifted through clothes and tattered blankets until a scarf unravelled and exposed the secret. Red jewels glimmered from the necklace that Suzanne had mooned over in the market streets. Why was she hiding it? Wouldn't Mrs Moore have been overjoyed that such attentions were being bestowed upon her daughter? Or was she just hoping to avoid Kitty's resentment?

The awful truth presented itself the next market day. Perhaps fortunately for her, Suzanne had come down with a cold and was forced to remain abed. Kitty took the wares to town with Mrs Moore and discovered a commotion outside the jeweller's shop. Gossip was rife among the crowd and the storeowner's voice could be heard telling a boisterous tale somewhere inside.

"Gone…priceless pieces…taken!" she caught from the hubbub. "Would have been robbed blind…of everything I had…hadn't been for Lord Passer…"

"Huzzah for Lord Passer!"

"Did you hear the fuss he made? Were you there? Nearly caught the blighter he did!"

"…dashed about the shop not caring for the spectacle he made, all to ensure he saved what he could…"

"How heroic! Huzzah for Lord Passer!"

"Who was it?"

"Didn't catch sight of the devil, we'll hunt him out. Passer saw him. He shall help."

Kitty felt sick. She had to warn Suzanne, but what if she already knew? Had Suzanne been an accomplice? Kitty feared Passer's intentions. It would be the work of a moment for him to frame Miss Moore and let him get away. He had already duped the town. He had pilfered a jeweller's without breaking a single pane of glass, right under their noses.

She returned to the cottage, ignoring Mrs Moore's excited twittering about their new local hero, and ascended the stairs towards Suzanne's room. As she reached for the handle she noticed a folded piece of parchment poking under the doorjamb. Kitty pulled it out quietly. The outer side read 'Suzanne'. Miss Moore had clearly been too ill or tired to notice the message's arrival. Kitty bit her lip and stared at the folded paper, terrified of its contents and the damage it might do to Suzanne. What if it held blackmail or proved evidence against her? She had to protect her family. She could not let Passer or Smith or anyone else take advantage of them, even if they drove her out. Kitty crept down to the laundry room and opened the letter.

_Dearest,_

_I look forward to seeing your face again, darling. I hope the gift was to your liking. Meet me at the bridge tonight upon the eleventh hour._

_Jonathan ~x~_

Kitty regarded the message callously and crumpled it in her palm. She tossed it onto the kitchen fire as she passed and resumed the day's work. That evening, when all those indoors had put themselves to bed and she was sure the shepherd boy had taken up his watch, Kitty padded softly downstairs and put on a thick cloak. Having saved up for a holster, her pistol now rested at her side. The quartz knife that knew more of her history than she did was slotted inside a thin sheath and bound to the same belt. Ready as she could manage, she stepped out into the night.

****************************************************************

Treading the outskirts of the farm, Kitty was able to avoid being spotted by Toby as he recounted the sheep. There was only one bridge near enough for her to guess Passer's meeting place, at the far edge of the forest bordering the Moore fields. She walked the path circling the woodlands for she knew Suzanne would not have dared venture into the trees. It was foolishness to wander out without telling anyone but she had rather it were she than Suzanne.

Far off in the distance she heard the village bell begin the chimes of eleven. The whisper-laden trundling of the wide stream reached her ears and she stepped onto the arching stone bridge. There was no one to be seen but Kitty was getting accustomed to being surprised. She walked to the left side of the bridge and watched the stream run. She closed her eyes and listened. So soft as almost unheard was the crunch of leaves somewhere below. Kitty waited, eyes half opening. She stood perfectly still until the serenity deepened too much for it to be real, and then she turned with pistol drawn.

"Miss Baker," said Lord Passer. It was not clear by his tone whether he was caught unawares. "I was wondering how long I was to wait before you came."

Kitty's brow furrowed. She kept her pistol arm raised. "Yeh were expectin' meh?"

"How were you to resist protecting Suzanne?" He smiled and she thought she saw something shining amongst his teeth.

"An' I s'pose yeh wanted t' lure meh out an' remove the obstacle?" At his silence she continued, "Yeh might have the town an' the Moores fooled but I en't. Yeh're an impostor. I know yeh stole those jewels an' really, what sort'f lord only has one suit?"

Passer smirked and reached inside his coat, causing Kitty to start forward, finger resting on the pistol trigger. He brought out a pouch and tipped some of its contents into his left palm. Precious stones glittered in his hand.

"A shame I did not have these to accompany your dress for the fair. No time like the present. What would please the lady? Diamonds? Sapphires?" He plucked a small green stone from the handful and held it up. "A jade, perhaps?"

Kitty gritted her teeth. "Mr Woldham bought this dress."

"_Did _he? Is that what he told you? I suppose he can give an account of the picture stitched upon the front interior of the bodice?"

"There en't no such thin'." He shrugged and pocketed the gems. Scowling, Kitty put a thumb to her neckline, intending to part it enough to glance inside. The moment her gaze dropped, Passer seized her. Grappling with the firearm, he turned her around to lean against the wall of the bridge. In a brief moment of terror, Kitty felt giddy at the vision of the murky waters below. Despite herself she gave a startled sob as he trapped her between himself and the stone. The pistol's barrel was forced against her temple.

"I submit to you, Miss Baker," he said, keeping his voice as succinct as proper as ever, "that within that dress there is an image of a magpie designed to sit snug in the bosom of its wearer. Is that not right? Why don't you take a look? Come, come, dear, now is not the time for modesty. Tell me what lies therein."

Shaking with rage and fear, Kitty fumbled at the line where material met cleavage with the only hand she had free. She parted and released it again swiftly in order that he saw as little as possible.

"Well?" His arm tightened at her waist.

"A magpie, 's a magpie!" she cried.

"A magpie!" His triumphant tone growled, slipping from the upper class.

She winced as his weight pressed her harder into the edge of the low wall. "So yeh sent meh the dress," she spat. "Yeh got Suzanne the necklace. What d'yeh hope t' gain? Our affections? Or jes' enough attention t' get us where yeh please? If yeh're lookin' t' spoil meh, yeh're in f'r a fight. An' if yeh've touched Suzanne, I'll tear yeh apart."

Passer spun her about with enough vigour to make her yelp. She saw his eyes. The dark outlines around them were thicker, much thicker. They were Smith's eyes. "'S you!" she breathed. "I knew -."

"Don't alarm y'self, missy," he said in a spliced London tongue. "I'll take what I'm given when you so choose it. Time dictates you'll come to me of your own accord but, whilst this be much anticipated, how's about we go back to your little farm'ouse, get back the trinket I imparted to our charming Miss Moore, an' then I might let you in on a few things I know about a certain young lass's misplaced past. Savvy?"

Kitty picked out the glinting between his lips as gold and silver caps. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Yeh're lucky I en't in a position t' see yeh hanged f'r what yeh are."

"Fortunate for the both of us, love, for that position is reserved for the noose alongside my own. Lawmen care naught for the difference between the real pirate and the masquerade." He pulled her away from the wall and directed her toward the path to the farm. He pointed the pistol at her back. "Move."

With a sulking expression Kitty began the march home, Smith following close behind. She muttered under her breath. "Yeh look stupid in tha' wig."

* * *

Arriving at the farm, Kitty led Smith amongst the buildings out of the shepherd's sight. All was as quiet as she had left it. She felt the security of familiar surroundings stirring her confidence. As they passed the barn, Kitty stumbled and sprawled on the soily ground. Unprepared, Smith nearly stepped on her. It only took the split-second of his confusion for her to kick his boots. They slipped on the mud and brought him to earth. Kitty broke for the barn, skittering over the straw in her flight. Smith gave chase.

He stopped just ahead of the doorway, searching the room from where he stood. His eyes narrowed, trying to deduce her hiding place. He heard the slice of the knife too late. A rope cut down to its last few strands, suspending a net of hay-bales above the entrance, had waited for him. The net and its contents engulfed the flamboyantly attired pirate and flattened him against the barn floor. Groaning, Smith crawled out and staggered to his feet. The look of surprise did not have time to fully enter his features as a glowering Miss Baker swung out with the side of the milking bucket and smacked him across the back of his head. He crumpled to the floor.

Kitty dropped the bucket and quickly checked him for a pulse. Satisfied that he was unconscious, she hurried back to the cottage and rifled as quietly as possible through the pantry. She snatched up a grimy key and sneaked back to the barn. Using all the strength she possessed, Kitty pulled Smith and his lordly regalia through the farmyard and to a set of wooden doors affixed to the cottage. Making sure that she was not seen, she twisted the key in the lock, threw the doors wide and dragged the pirate down into the cellar.


	12. Chapter 12

**A:N: **_My apologies, chapters may begin to become rather delayed again. Whilst I will continue my fanfiction, I must get working on my original works if I ever want to be a 'real' writer. Nevertheless, enjoy!_

* * *

By the light of the room's lantern Kitty watched her captive until he roused. She had propped Smith against a support beam central within the cellar and tied his hands behind it. The hands themselves had only added to the confirmation of his identity. He wore the same rings, including the large silver one with the emerald, which she had come to associate with the pirate that had caused her so much trouble.

Smith stirred and lolled forward where he sat. Feeling the strain in his arms he opened his eyes and leant back again, scanning his surroundings for answers. He focused on Kitty standing at the opposite wall.

"You finally took your troubles by the helm," he said. "Well done."

"I sh'd turn yeh over t' the town f'r thievin'."

He smirked. "You hand me in an' what's to stop me from telling 'em exactly what you are?"

Kitty glared. "An' wot 'xactly _am_ I?"

"Doesn't matter to them. They see the mark and, Robert's your uncle, nothing else for it but the rope."

She stepped closer, intending to show her nerve. "Yeh don' scare meh. Not all people're so bad they'd judge yeh before hearin' yeh out."

Smith smiled contemptuously. "You'd be surprised how much easier it is to sway the opinion of a crowd than that of one man. Too many brains spoil the thought."

"Then mebbeh I don' care if I get dragged down with yeh. At least yeh won' be able t' do any more damage than yeh already have."

"Then turn me in."

Kitty leapt forward to crouch before him, meeting his gaze. "Yeh said yeh knew about meh. M' past. Tell meh what yeh know."

The pirate, still outfitted in foppery, turned up his nose as much as possible in his position. "I said no such thing."

"Izzat righ'?" she said, scowling. "Then if yeh're of no use t' meh, per'aps I'll jes' lock yeh in 'ere an' acciden'lly lose the key. Mebbeh when yeh delirious with thirst yeh migh' remember."

The colour in Smith's face drained despite revealing barely a twitch in his composure. "Although doubtful that I would relish the opportunity to experience that once again in me lifetime, I regret to inform you that my knowledge on the subject is limited."

"Tell meh," Kitty demanded.

He looked to her exposed right arm. She had discarded her gloves near the lantern.

"That particular brand is doled out by the East India Trading Company. O' course that makes no odds whether you're a pirate or a gondolier as far as they're concerned. They so much as sniff someone what's been anywhere near a pirate, or simply for political gain, they'll slap one on and so condemn any caught wiv it. Apparently you've 'ad a run in with them."

"An' are yeh some'at t' do with it?"

"What?"

"Are yeh the reas'n I got branded?"

"Sharing marks does not make us acquaintances, lass. There's plenty of ocean to be found in."

"That en't answerin' the question."

Smith gave a wry smile. "I'm not exactly harbouring enough incentive to be helpful when you've got me 'oled up in a cellar." He put on his Passer voice, with added bluster. "These ropes bristle terribly and what with all the heat from this wig it is a wonder my memory serves me at all."

Kitty growled and snatched his hairpiece, allowing the inevitable weight of his dreadlocks to tumble out. His faded red bandanna was bunched up where it had hidden beneath the wig. The difference jarred her. She could not help but yank it down over his brow where it belonged.

"Ta," he said, snidely.

"Talk! What d'yeh know of meh?"

"Not a lot. Sprung you from gaol once. That's 'ow come you didn't kick the bucket after you got the brand."

She looked at him dubiously. "An' what could've possessed yeh t' help meh? Guilt?"

"I was persuaded by a lad with a lot o' money and a lot o' wool between the ears, or so I thought before 'e up an' vanished. Got lumped with you in me crew for maybe a week or two, you jumped ship an' that's the sum of it. What you're doin' all the way out 'ere is any man's guess."

"Yeh d'know how I lost m' mem'reh? Why would yeh come so far from the sea? Why waste yeh time pesterin' girls on a farm?"

Smith tilted his head in a cattish manner. The Siamese coin that draped upon his bandanna gleamed. "Flattering though it would be to say you 'ad made an impression upon me, it is as I told you. I was tracking someone, someone who caused me considerable affliction. My sources led me 'ere and stopped dead at the farm."

Kitty caught a flicker of ferocity in his stare. She rose to her feet and stepped back. "Yeh think I'm hidin' someone?"

"Remarkable coincidence that you 'appen to be here and know nothing of me. Even if you _are _telling the truth you could be 'iding someone without even knowing. I wouldn't put it past 'em to find a way to clear someone's mind, especially if they thought you knew me."

"Yeh're barkin'. 'Ow's someone meant t' do tha'?"

"Magic."

"Pfft."

"Then you would rather I believe you were spinning me lies?"

"I don' care what yeh believe," Kitty snorted. "Yeh've got nothin' useful t' say about meh so why don' weh change the subjec'? Why don' yeh tell meh what yeh've been doin' with Suzanne?"

A tide of challenge drifted into his eyes and then ebbed. "Why not ask _her_?"

Kitty averted her gaze for only a moment before she bared her teeth at him. "If anyone finds tha' necklace yeh stole, they'll lock her up."

"Then you'd better remove it, 'adn't you? Might I remind you I was off to do the very same before some vicious little strumpet decided to knock me out."

Kitty kicked one of his outstretched legs. He winced. "No matter what yeh do, yeh'll 'urt her. I en't lettin' yeh get away with it."

"She'll be fine."

Flooded with guilt at not taking measures to protect Suzanne, fearful of the damage already caused, and incensed with an anger she could not place, Kitty rushed forward and seized Smith at the collar. She felt a shirt beneath the opulent coat brush the underside of her palm.

"Tell meh yeh didn' sully 'er!"

At first his face was expressionless in the wake of her distressed, close-lipped breaths but he broke into a mocking grin and said nothing. As Kitty brought herself down from boiling point she realised the awkwardness of her position. To keep at his level in order to grab hold she had needed to crouch over him. He could have kicked her off at any point. Thinking he had not had the time to consider this, she brought out her pistol and planted the barrel where the fork of his beard met his chin. She pressed hard enough to force his head back against the beam.

"Put it away, love," he said. "I'll only 'ave to take it off you again."

"Las' time yeh didn' 'ave y' hands tied be'ind yeh back."

"'Tis a shame you can't remember the stories about me. If you could, you'd know I could relieve you of that pistol, arms tied, drunk, and blind."

Kitty brought her arm back in order to aim the gun between his eyes. She scoffed. "Blind drunk yeh mean?"

Smith's caps glittered unnervingly. "Aye, that too."

"An' if I _had _heard yeh stories, what makes yeh think I'd tell 'em apart from a plate o' tripe?"

The pirate inflated with pride. "One simple, inescapable truth, darlin'. I'm Cap-." He bit off the end of the sentence. Irritably, he diverted the topic. "If you shoot me, someone's going to wonder why you opened fire on an unarmed man what's been lashed to a post."

"I c'n set yeh loose firs'. The door's locked in case yeh tried escapin'. A movin' target might beh entertainin'."

"You locked yourself in with a seasoned criminal?"

She placed her finger on the trigger. "I'm still alive."

"And what of Suzanne? Can you murder 'er sweet'eart in cold blood?"

"You en't her sweetheart," Kitty hissed.

Smith smirked. "Or is it you just don't want me to be? How _is _Mr Woldham?"

She gave him a bitter glare and backed off towards the cellar door. "Yeh were wrong. I _do _know who yeh are. I found out all about Lord _Passer_. Latin, en'it? Jonathan? Jes' an extension." All mirth washed from his expression as she blurted out the third ingredient of the spell's antidote. "Jack Sparrow!" The surprise in his face was enough to confirm it. Keeping the excitement of her discovery hidden, she spoke coldly. "Per'aps by the time I get back yeh'll 'ave cooked up a bushel'f excuses f'r Suzanne. Mebbeh I'll let yeh tell 'er to 'er face."

Kitty snatched up her gloves and fled the cellar as the lantern's candle dwindled.

* * *

Taking care not to rouse Suzanne, Kitty crept into her room and climbed into bed. She hid the cellar key inside her pillowcase and lay down, exhausted but wide awake. Her heart drummed its trepidation.

_I've kidnapped someone. What the 'ell was I thinkin'? Least 'e deserves it… I was right… e's the one in the book. 'Ow much of those stories were true? Any of 'em? Why me? How did I end up gettin' involved in some'at like this? Where are meh fam'leh? Who am I?_

She achieved only a rough hour of sleep before she had to rise and get on with the day's duties. Suzanne was still unwell so Kitty brought her some broth and bread. She stroked her cheek, thinking Miss Moore was still asleep, but Suzanne opened her eyes. Kitty was at first anxious that she would still be angry. The incident had been a week ago and still they had not properly spoken. To Kitty's relief, Suzanne smiled feebly and made herself sit up.

"Mornin' Suzie, how're yeh feelin'?" _I've got yeh fancyman locked in the cellar. _Kitty fought against her failing nerves.

"Like one of the sheep crawled inside my head and called it home," she croaked. "I know you'll say 'I told you so' but I should never have stayed out all those nights in the cold. I got caught in the rain more than once, it is a wonder I'm not more seriously ill."

"Ah, 's past now, we'll get yeh well again."

"Thank you, Kitty."

Miss Baker passed the broth over and left Suzanne in peace.

* * *

Throughout the morning Kitty was distracted. Every chore took twice as long with a wandering and tired mind. She broke one of the eggs she had collected, mildly scalded herself on the kettle when filling the laundry tub, and since her dress had become too filthy to wear she had needed to revert to wearing Suzanne's again. This meant she was also prone to tripping.

Mid-afternoon, Kitty helped to prepare dinner. It was the only time all of the Moores gathered during the day. Mr Moore and Paul Moore, Suzanne's older brother, came in from working the fields and wood chopping for winter. Mr Moore had never completely warmed to Kitty, her not being in much of a position to benefit the family as financially as an adopted son might have, but, despite his indifferent nature, he treated her well enough. She was able to help bring in sufficient money to support the feeding of another mouth. Paul was always kind. He had an unflatteringly scrunched-up quality to his face but he was a gentle man with a lot of patience. Occasionally he showed Kitty some of the maintenance work about the farm and had instructed her on caring for the horse if ever he was away.

The two men joined Kitty, Mrs Moore and a blanket-wrapped Suzanne at table. The meal passed pleasantly and Kitty was relieved no one had asked about the cellar key. It was not used daily, for most of the tools were kept either in a shed or within the cottage. The sack of flour Mrs Moore used for baking was at least half full and would not yet need replacing. What else they kept down there she was not sure. She had only ever gone for flour. Everything else was kept in storage crates or protected under sackcloth. Hopefully no one would have a need to enter for a few days.

When dinner was finished and the table cleared, Kitty excused herself and ensured she got to the bedroom before Suzanne. Quickly she took the cellar key from her pillow and pulled out a fleece from a drawer. She wrapped the key along with a bundle of cloth she had brought up, inside the fleece and clasped it close. Suzanne was at the door when she turned to leave. She looked groggily at the fleece in Kitty's hand.

"What're you doing?" she wondered, eyes half closed.

"I'll be up late t'night finishin' up m' work. Didn' want t' get too cold. Mostleh f'r meh feet t' keep warm realleh."

Suzanne nodded and allowed Kitty to pass first.

"Kitty?"

Miss Baker stopped at the top of the stairs. "Yeh?"

"Jonathan hasn't been by, has he?"

Kitty shook her head.

"You would tell me, wouldn't you?"

Kitty turned her face to Suzanne and gave a small smile. "O' course."

As Miss Moore retired, Kitty made her escape, cringing all the while. She would have to come clean soon and before the family discovered the necklace. She hid the fleece in the pantry until she had finished helping Mrs Moore with the last of the housework before it got too dark. Once certain the cottage was quiet she retrieved her bundle and headed once again to see her captive.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **_This chapter dedicated to Surreal, Grath, Jezibelle and Tam in hope that I may obtain your forgiveness. It is my intention to eventually edit out your characters from this story in order to make it more accessible to readers that do not know of Sparrow's Folly, to retain the story's true flavour, and to avoid covering more than one franchise. The original edition shall be kept offsite. Enjoy!_

* * *

Cast in the veil of light afforded her by a lantern, Kitty observed the pirate from the bottom step of the cellar. She had half expected him to have escaped and be waiting to pounce from the shadows, but there he was, still bound to the beam. She wondered if he had slept or whether the fear of being discovered had kept him alert.

"Decided against leaving me to rot, then?"

The voice made her shiver, which sparked her temper. It was so distinct in its informality, a common London speech mauled to inaccuracy by his constant travels, on the one hand close to comical and the other making her think of things no innocent girl would. She felt nostalgia cut her to the core for which she had no explanation.

"They'd find yeh long before yeh 'ad the luxury," she answered sullenly.

"You 'aven't told them," he said, with a little surprise.

"Y' said yeh'd bring meh down with yeh. I en't plannin' t' risk it."

The expression he gave in response unnerved her. It wasn't quite a smile but those dark eyes shouted laughter. She drew a few feet closer and set the lantern down along with the fleece she had brought. She unfolded it and knelt upon the warm fabric before unravelling the folded cloth she had hidden inside. The contents were revealed – a few crusts of bread, a small chunk of cheese and a hipflask. She met his gaze. "Before there's even a chance yeh get any, yeh'll answer m' questions." He made no complaint.

"Are yeh _realleh_ Jack Sparrow?"

"Was your mind not made up this last night?"

"I en't sure 'e can be real. At leas'…'alf the stories are practic'ly impossible They jes' can' be true."

"An' 'ow much do you know of the world out there for you to pass judgement?"

Kitty scowled. "Yeh're doin' it again. Stop answerin' with questions. Are the stories true then?"

"Some."

Her mind buzzed so much with things to ask that they almost cancelled one another out. Which were true? What was he really doing here? Who was it he had been tracking that he accused her of hiding?

"I don' believe we only met the once," she said quietly. "Yeh know more about meh than yeh lettin' on. I'm sure'f it."

"Sailing trips are not renowned for their brevity, love. We would've been in one another's company long enough for it to feel we had met on several occasions."

"What was m' name then?"

"You didn't give one. Not a real one, anyway. Sarah Johnson."

Kitty furrowed her brow. "How d'yeh know that en't m' real name?"

"You told me. Said you didn' 'ave a name an' made one up any chance you got."

She sat a moment in thoughtful silence before changing the subject. "Do yeh love Suzanne?"

He inhaled deeply, his eyes suddenly evasive. "I fear whatever answer I give will leave me without sustenance."

She sighed and took up the hipflask. She got to her feet and circled around the room to crouch beside him, ensuring she was out of reach of his unbound legs. Kitty pulled off the flask lid and moved the vessel toward his face. He turned away and made a grunt of distaste.

"No-no. You first," he said. "I don't drink what 'asn't been tested."

"'S onleh water. Yeh're lucky I'm givin' it at all."

He looked at her accusingly. "I can't drink like this. You'll 'ave to loose one of me arms."

"Yeh drink it like this or go without."

Reluctantly he let her tip the flask contents into his mouth. Her eyes widened at the sight of the metallic caps on his neglected teeth. After, she nibbled on the edges of the crusts to prove their harmlessness and made to feed them to him. She hesitated, the bread held millimetres from his lips. She read the rebelliousness in his eyes and flushed on his behalf.

"I can' feed yeh if yeh look at meh like tha'."

"I can eat well enough with my own 'ands."

"I don' trust yeh."

Kitty got up and left the cellar but soon returned. In her hand she held his flintlock and brought it up to aim at her prisoner. He did not seem afraid but he straightened his back against the beam. She stood quietly whilst she worked out what she would do. In reasoning that she had known him, and claimed to have saved her from the gallows, she felt obliged to let him eat. What's more she could hardly bear the thought of someone starving under her care. If she let free just one arm… that gave him three limbs with which to attack. To sit at his side, even with a pistol, was risky. The stories said Jack Sparrow was fast and cunning, but she recalled no mention of his violence. Had he been a murderer like most of his kind? Her book made no statement of such crimes.

Having made her decision, Kitty went once again up the stairs and locked the door. She hid the key in the shadows and came back into the light of the lantern. She swallowed.

_This is a stupid plan._

Kitty moved around to the back of the beam. She pressed the flintlock's barrel against his head. "Move an inch an' I shoot," she growled. She scrabbled about with one hand, loosening the knot of rope. Seizing his left hand, she took it out of the loops. For a few seconds she lowered the gun in order to secure his right arm but he made no attempt to escape. Once relatively satisfied she stepped back and circled around to face him. She pointed the pistol at his chest. "Don' try anythin'." Her anger flared to mask her embarrassment as she approached. He watched with an awful smirk as she straddled him and sat, pinning his knees. The skirt of her dress spread out shamefully. Keeping the pistol aimed, she glanced toward the food she had left beside him. "Eat."

He obeyed. She watched him like a cat, unsure whether the bird would put to use its sharp beak. Her feeling of control quavered under his matched stare. He ate slowly, provocatively, in a manner enough to make her cheeks redden. Her thighs felt his intrusive warmth, exacerbated by the chill of the cellar, and she hated her heart for quickening. When he had eaten all there was, she got up and edged back. As she opened her mouth to speak the cellar door rattled.

She froze and listened. Someone knocked.

Kitty glared warningly at the pirate, hid the pistol at her back and crept up the steps. Once she reached the door she heard a whispered voice.

"Kitty?"

"Suzie?" Kitty groped in the dark for the key and unlocked the way. She climbed out and closed it behind her, before turning to Miss Moore. "What're yeh doin' out 'ere?"

"I'd ask you the same if you hadn't left me this note." She passed Kitty a crumpled piece of parchment. "It was in the laundry room, under a day's worth of washing."

_Dearest Suzanne,_

_Meet me in the cellar tomorrow night at one o' clock in the morning. I cannot speak freely at any other time._

_Yours, Kitty._

"I didn' write tha'!" Kitty said with astonishment.

Suzanne looked puzzled. "But you're here. I could see light through the keyhole. What were you doing down there?"

Kitty winced. "Suzie, I have t' tell yeh some'at. An' 's goin' t' be a bit'f a shock."

Suzanne went pale. "It's Jonathan, isn't it?" For a moment Miss Baker caught her breath but Suzanne continued, "Something terrible has happened to him."

"Er…" Kitty flailed for words. "No, no, it en't like tha'. Not 'xactly. 'S about the man from the woods." Suzanne's honest face made her feel sick. "Well…I've got 'im in the cellar," Kitty blurted. Suzanne's eyes widened. "It gets worse," Kitty went on. "'E came back disguised. I 'ardly recognised 'im, wearin' a wig an' fancy coat." She bit her lip and finally brought herself to meet Suzanne's gaze. "Suzie, he _is _Jonathan."

"What?" Suzanne pushed past and threw open the door. Gathering the skirt of her nightdress, she hurried down the steps.

"Suzie, wait!" Kitty followed, anxiously.

One hand to her full lips, Suzanne gawked at the man tied to the beam. "Jonathan!"

His eyes were filled with fear. "Suzanne, my darling!" The nobleman's speech was once more upon his tongue.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Suzanne rounded on Kitty.

Kitty opened and closed her mouth in exasperation. "Suzie, _look _at 'im! D'yeh see 'is 'air? His _teeth_?"

Suzanne looked unwell with confusion.

"Miss Moore, I beg of you," said 'Passer'. "Forgive my barbaric appearance. My teeth are but the unfortunate result of a highwayman's assault five years past. This was the only thing my physician could do to preserve them. As for the state of my hair, I can only plead eccentric, a matter of experimental fashion. I apologise for the untruth and would have revealed it most likely at our next meeting."

Kitty panicked and pointed the pistol at him, causing Suzanne to squeal. "Stop it!" Kitty snarled. "Stop lyin'! He's puttin' it on. There en't a gen'leman in there! E's foolin' yeh!"

"Suzanne…" he said pathetically. It was too much for Miss Moore. She threw herself upon him, blocking Kitty's line of fire.

It happened too quickly. Kitty's look of terror met the glimmer of victory in his eyes. "Suzanne!" she cried. Too late – the pirate's free arm locked around Suzanne's throat and pulled her in as a shield.

"There's a good lass," he said, losing the gentry accent. "Drop the pistol." Suzanne whimpered in his grasp. Helplessly, Kitty placed the flintlock on the floor. "Now kick it over 'ere." She did so and watched with a sudden nausea as his right hand snaked from behind the beam, completely free. He smirked at her surprise. "I'm a sailor, dearie. Knots don't get me in a tangle." He picked up the gun and got to his feet, making Suzanne stand with him. He shrugged off the dusty fop's coat, revealing his off-white dress shirt.

"Now, Miss Baker, where are the rest of my effects?"

"Outside."

"In that case, Suzanne, kindly step into that corner. Go on, move." The frightened young woman scurried to the back of the cellar. "An' you, missy," he said to Kitty, "can come with me."

"Where?"

The pirate rolled his eyes and pointed the pistol at her. She scowled and moved up the stairs. He sprang after her and snatched the key from the door. Once they were out in the open he shut the cellar and locked it, leaving the key.

Suzanne's voice wailed from below. "Jonathan!"

"You bastard," Kitty hissed. "She'll catch 'er death down there. She en't fully well."

"She'll be fine."

Kitty clenched her fists. "So where are we goin'?"

"You an' me," Jack replied. "We're going to get my effects an' then…" He left the sentence unfinished, his thoughts wandering elsewhere.

"Then? Then wha'? Yeh -."

Kitty's voice was stifled as his hand clamped over her mouth. The pistol barrel brushed coldly at her neck and she was shoved onward to where she did not know.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:**_ I love bank holidays. Thank you to those of you popping me on Favourites. Would adore it if I could snaffle reviews from some of you too!_

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Under less forceful circumstances, Kitty might have had a moment to recognise the beauty of the grounds beyond the woods. The silhouette of a grand house crouched in the distance, beyond a clear lake that was populated with drifting swans. They had walked a good few miles from the Moore residence, making it no easy task for her to run back. She doubted she would even know the way, especially in this dark. Her captor had taken so many twists and turns, his eyes locked to his compass. Now they had arrived at a small, open shelter – a makeshift structure of wood and rags with an array of sackcloths and sheets lining its floor. It looked out across the lake from its position amid a cluster of bushes.

Jack disappeared behind the shelter where she heard leaves rustling. He emerged with the tricorne she had seen when she had first encountered him. He settled it upon his head and moved to sit on the hemp floor.

Kitty stood by awkwardly. "Is this where yeh live?"

He examined his pistol, which remained under her constant watch. "I don't live anywhere. Sometimes I rest 'ere, sometimes I stay in town. Didn't bank on bein' around this long."

The pirate's apathetic attitude stoked Kitty's hysteria. "Then what _are_ yeh doin' 'ere?" she snarled. "Why are yeh playin' these games? Pesterin' meh, hurtin' Suzanne, stealin', lyin', threatenin', kidnappin'? Wharr'appened t' that person yeh were trackin'? If they en't 'ere, why are _you_?"

Pained by the onslaught and volume of her protests, he got up again and clawed his hands in frustration. "I don't know!" he snapped. He caught her staring at the pistol he was waving and shoved it back into its holster. "What's done is done, young missy, an' I make no ramifications for atonement in your eyes or any other."

Kitty shuffled her feet. "Why don' yeh go back to the sea? Isn' that yer 'ome?"

His eyes roamed to the star-reflecting lake and regarded the waters softly. "My ship was taken. Took me ten years to get it back last time."

"Yeh've given up?"

Jack frowned and gave what she could only describe as a pout. "No."

"D'yeh miss it?"

"Always."

Kitty wrinkled her nose as a drop of rain hit it. She looked upward at the dark clouds and blinked as several more splashed her eyelids. She stepped into the shelter and set herself down on the carpet of stolen fabrics. She shivered at the onset of a chill breeze. As the rain gave way to a downpour, she watched Jack fix a large sheet from the roof to the floor's edge. It kept the wind from blowing the rain in. Only one side of the shelter became sodden. Longing to sip a cup of hot water, Kitty wrapped herself up in whatever lay around. The rain did not seem to bother Jack.

"Who was it that wronged yeh?" she asked once he was done. "What did they do?"

Jack looked out from under the brim of his hat. "They 'elped bring about a mutiny against me. Knocked me out an' put me in a scuppered dinghy. After nearly drowning an' starvin' on an island spit I ended up imprisoned an' tortured beyond my nerve." The look of rapt concern on her face prompted him to continue. "'S one of the laws laid down in the Pirate Code. Anyone what dares to mutiny must face the consequences of the victim's return. I don't much 'old with killing people normally, but it's expected that a pirate put a shot in the heart of 'is betrayer."

Kitty bit her lip. "An' they came t' these parts?"

"Aye, but by my reckonin' they'll be long gone now."

She nodded solemnly but could not keep her horrified curiosity from growing. "Why did they do it?"

He shook his head. "I d'know." He delved into silence for half a minute before resuming. "They said the one I would 'ave suspected made them."

"Yeh caught up with 'em after?"

"Aye, but they got away."

Kitty looked puzzled. "How can yeh be forced t' commit mutiny?"

"Blackmail, possibly. Monetary gain?"

"But yeh didn' believe 'em?"

The pirate's expression was profoundly morose. "I dropped me guard. It wouldn't be so easy, but I trusted this one more, no… not trust. I just didn't expect it. Anyway, 'ere nor there, the deed was done an' without retribution my reputation goes up in black, stifling smoke."

"Tha's awful."

He appeared to become lost in thought. Kitty stared out through the curtain of rain, wondering what turmoil and fiendish plots were simmering in the criminal's mind and feeling wretched at the thought of poor Suzanne all alone in the cellar. She drew a few sacks over herself for warmth and lay down. The sound of the rain caused her to drift into a doze. About an hour passed. She could not be sure whether she was dreaming at first, but she caught the sound of his voice. He was mumbling to himself, his tone changing rapidly as though he were speaking to several others, but the answers came from his own lips.

"Can't ignore us forever, Jackie. All work an' no play? Wivout us there's no play. You're not real. Don't you miss the Locker? No, an' neither do you. You made us. Not my problem. She is though. Who? 'Er. _'Er? _Aye. All 'cause of 'er you forgot us, forgot you. Live again an' stop mopin' about. What vexes all men? Cut the strings. Kill the girl an' be done wiv it. What? Kill 'er. No, no-no, no killin' the girl. What about the Code? What would Daddy say? Leave 'im out of it. Don't pull that, you'll bring the rain in. But we're not real. What 'appened to immortality? On hiatus. Kill the girl. Oh, bugger off."

Too afraid to drift off again, Kitty kept her eyes closed and waited. His mutterings died away and she waited, hardly daring to breathe or move. After some time the rain stopped and she heard the sound of his slow breaths as he slept. She waited and waited. Morning arrived and, carefully, she sat upright. Jack did not stir. She peeled off the various sacks and sheets she had bundled around her and rose to her feet. Still he made no movement. The last few nights had taken their toll upon him. Kitty held her breath and crept to the edge of the shelter. Stepping quietly onto the grass outside she looked on toward the great house beyond the lake. She gave the sleeping pirate one last glance before she set off. Once she was a few yards gone, she broke into a run.

* * *

Feeling as though her lungs might burst, Kitty stumbled up the steps to the immense mahogany doors. She knocked loudly, gasping for breath. Having had little time to prepare herself, she found it hard to form words when a silver-haired butler appeared in the entrance.

"Beggin' y' pardon, sirrah," she choked. "I fin' m'self desp'rate at y' door. I'm from Moore Farm an' was stolen away by a madman. Now I don' know where I am an' mus' plead f'r refuge."

"What is your name, miss?"

"Kitty Baker."

He nodded. "Very well. You may sit in the drawing room until I have spoken with the master of the house."

"Oh, thank y'!"

No sooner was the way clear, Kitty hurried inside.

Ten minutes of sitting nervously in the opulent house raced by. Kitty's gaze darted from unusual works of art to the rather unlived-in feel of the room. It seemed as though the carpet had seen very little wear and the settee was so plump from lack of use that she felt it might swallow her. The paintings were beautifully done but were filled with unclothed nymphs and crowds of men enjoying vulgar female displays. In a safer frame of mind she might have found them amusing. At present she was made all the more uncomfortable.

Someone came hurrying into the room. "Miss Baker?"

Kitty whipped her head around and leapt from her seat. "Mr Wold'am! M' days, I'm so glad t' see yeh!" All of her fears melted at the sight of the kindly young man. "Please forgive meh. I didn' know this was your home."

Ginson Woldham stepped forward and clasped her hands. "Not at all. It is a delight to have you. But you look dreadful! I shall have Mr Benford bring in some refreshment and when you have told me everything we shall see about finding you something to wear."

Trembling with relief, Kitty imparted all that had happened to her over the past night, omitting the fact that she had kept a pirate in her cellar for questioning. Ginson listened intently, smiling politely whenever she became embarrassed about her manner of speech.

"It is very fortunate you found your way here," he said. "And you say your family do not know your whereabouts?"

Kitty shook her head and gulped at her tea. "They might'n't even know I'm gone yet, though they do get up earleh."

"Not to worry. We shall set you right."

Kitty beamed. "Thank y'."

When she was finished, Ginson led her up a set of burgundy-carpeted stairs and introduced her to what she assumed to be a guest room. There was a high dressing screen at the foot of a double bed. The curtains at the window were drawn but hinted at the lace behind, set just above a neat dressing table. It was a richly decorated room, perhaps a little ostentatious, for it seemed plainly for an older woman. The colours were deep and the air smelt of faded perfumes.

"Do yeh have sisters or nieces stayin' 'ere?" she asked. "'S well suited f'r a lady."

"No, but I like to be prepared for such occasions." He smiled warmly. "If it is not too bold, may I offer the use of the screen? Petticoats have been provided. If you pass over your dress I shall see to it you shall have new ones to try. I regret I have few staff so the duty of maid falls to me."

"Aw'ight," said Kitty. "But I realleh don' deserve such generosity." She dismissed herself behind the screen and wriggled out of the tatty, borrowed dress. She laid it over the top of the screen. "Forgive m' cheek but may I 'ave it back f'r when I go 'ome? 'S Suzanne's."

"Of course."

Kitty set about pulling on the lace petticoats that were folded at the base of the screen. It took her some time for she was not used to even attempting more than one.

"I made the most interesting discovery the other day, Miss Baker."

"Oh?"

"Apparently there isn't a Baker branch of the Moore family."

Kitty hesitated with her foot in one petticoat.

"You are not Suzanne's cousin, are you?" Ginson said.

"I…no. They took me in. I'm their fam'leh, jes' not by blood."

"Oh, not to worry. It is no concern of mine. I personally would prefer a woman without so many ties to the complicated workings in the aristocracy."

"Careful, sirrah, I might mistake yeh f'r askin' f'r m' hand."

"Oh, _marriage_?" Ginson gave a strange laugh. "I did not mean to imply -."

"Onleh teasin'." Kitty said quickly, but could not help feeling hurt. "Pass meh a dress, please?" She stood tall and smoothed down her petticoats, ensuring her corset was comfortable. There was silence beyond the screen. "Mr Wold'am?" She peered out to see him sitting at his ease on a dressing chair. "D'yeh have some'at t' wear?"

"You don't need a dress just yet, Miss Baker. You are perfectly well as you are." He folded his arms.

Kitty said, "Oh," and slowly withdrew behind the screen. Her heart caught in her chest and a wave of nausea rose to make her head swim. "I," she said tentatively, "I would've thought this wasn' appropriate."

"That it would not be, if you were a lady," he replied. "But for you there is much more freedom. You have no family. As it stands, you are a burden upon the Moores. A woman with nothing to offer through marriage: no connections; no titles; no money. With me, none of those things will matter. I can provide for you, and your residence would be here."

Still not daring to look out at him, Kitty furrowed her brow and answered, "Then yeh _do _want meh as a wife?"

"Good heavens, no. That would be impossible. You will be my mistress. You shall want for nothing, never need to leave the house and I can see to it that, should I ever find a wife, you will be well relocated."

Kitty drew a few calculated breaths. "Mr Wold'am, I would like my dress back, please."

Silence.

"Mr Wold'am? I do not mean t' offend but I en't comfortable with the offer at present. I mus' decline."

"You misunderstand," said Ginson, his voice much closer. "It is not a request. Since no one can lay claim to you by law you are nothing but a civic burden. You have no rights, Miss Baker. You are a mere slave of which I will take ownership."

Kitty turned in horror to see the screen pushed aside. The young man she had cared for was made wild with repressed passions. Humiliated at being presented in a state of undress, Kitty bared her teeth and backed off.

"I en't anybody's slave an I'm sick t' _death_ of everyone chasin' meh about an' pullin' meh this way an' that. Jes' yeh try an' touch meh an' we'll see who's the civic burd'n when 'm finished."

Ginson caught sight of the brand on her arm. She balked.

"I have you now, _Catherine_. You can't go anywhere. You're a savage and if you set one foot out of that door, I'll see you in the noose." He made a grab for her. She yelped and darted past him. He spun and tackled her legs, bringing her down.

Kitty reached down and snatched her quartz knife from its garter-strapped sheath. Before he could react, she sliced at the back of his hand. Ginson yelled in pain. She scrambled up and ran for the door. She seized the handle and tugged. She yowled. _Locked!_

Ginson shoved her forward and snatched her arms, slammed her into the door again and relieved her of the dagger. He hauled her struggling form back across the room and threw her upon the bed.

Kitty screamed.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **_Apologies for any inconvenience. This story's rating is now M for Mature content. For those with a faint disposition, take heart. This story does have Jack Sparrow in, after all. Chapter 5 rehashed to get rid of pesky plothole.  
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_Benford opened the door to find a sword-point pressing to his chest. The surprised butler listened to the visitor very carefully as the visitor advised. He stepped backward, in time with the unwelcome guest's advance, and drew him into the house.

"Miss Baker?" the scoundrel stranger growled behind a calm façade.

"Who?" Benford replied, foolishly.

A young lady screamed upstairs. Benford tensed. The visitor inclined his head like a predator. The sword flashed. Its hilt connected with Benford's temple and his vision went black.

* * *

Jack raced up the stairs of the Woldham residence and through the hallways leading to the commotion. Arriving at the room, he twisted the doorknob. Its stubborn rattle incensed him to draw his pistol. The lock was blasted out from the frame. The shot spent, Sparrow moved into the room with his cutlass poised before him. He was greeted with the red face of dissolute Woldham and the desperate gasp of the girl held fast upon the bed.

"Who the devil are you?" Ginson demanded, not yet ready to release his grasp.

"Apparently not devil enough to contest," said Jack. He trod delicately sideways, boots crossing over one another, edging into a more central view of the room.

The cloud of Ginson's passions dissipating, recognition dawned. "You're the one she spoke of, the pirate. Whoever thought of such a man coming so far inland? If you are here to rob me, sir, someone has already beaten you to it. If it is this pound of flesh that you have come for," he pinched Kitty's wrists, "I see no harm in letting you share in its profits. I am sure your sort cares little for her condition. Allow me the liberty of wearing her in."

"On the contrary. What interest would there be in the offer of damaged goods?"

In the same instant that Ginson relaxed his hold and placed his feet on the ground, Kitty spluttered her protests. "What the _hell_? I en't some'at t' haggle over! I en't f'r either of yeh! Yeh're both _sick_!" Her gasping speech faltered when the sight of her torn petticoats caused her to relive Woldham's intentions. She folded into a crouch and whimpered ferally.

Ginson ignored her. Backing off from the pirate, he resumed the barter. "Then I hope you can propose a reasonable price, but I sincerely doubt you can match the windfall she would bring under my charge."

"Well, that all depends, doesn' it?" Jack gave a menacing smile. "'Ow much do you value your blood?"

Ginson's expression darkened. He threw open the cabinet he had been edging toward and drew out a rapier. Kitty looked up and inhaled sharply at the sight of Ginson's sword-point wavering before her.

"What of hers?" he challenged.

She turned to see Jack's reaction but the pirate had not even flinched. "D'you think this wise? Killing 'er won't save your reputation either, nor will it make me a happy man, which would be a great shame to the both of us."

"If you take her, my livelihood is as good as gone. I'd sooner we were both dead than hand her over to you."

Jack met Kitty's gaze. It was a soft enough look to take her aback, almost apologetic. She had thought she could not get much more frightened. He lowered his sword, glanced sternly at Mr Woldham and took his leave.

Kitty glared hatefully at Ginson, trying to hide her fear that he might accost her once again. However, his attention was now fixed upon the broken door. She realised he could not let the pirate leave else jeopardise his plans.

"Do not move," the young man warned. He moved to the dresser, which had previously been blocked when Jack had entered. He took a pistol from the top drawer and left the room.

Almost immediately she crept across and snatched her dress from where it lay, hurled it over herself and pulled off a couple of petticoats. She located her knife and peered out into the hallway. Seeing that it was clear she hurried barefoot until she reached the balcony. She could see the prone butler and Jack loitering in the stairwell. Her line of sight moved up and caught Ginson creeping down the stairs. He leaned over the rail and started to aim his gun.

"Jack, look out!" Kitty yelled. The distraction drew Ginson's attention. She darted back into the hallway but soon sneaked a look. Ginson rushed down the stairs, chasing after Jack. Adrenaline made Kitty giddy. She half wondered why she had alerted the pirate, but between him and Mr Woldham she'd take her chances with the one that _hadn't _tried to rape her. She bolted for the stairs, her mind set only on getting to the front door.

Kitty sprang from the bottom step, leapt over the unconscious Benford and ran straight for the open entrance.

"Stop there!"

Her feet slipped on the polished floor at the commanding tone of Ginson. He stood in the mouth of an adjoining hallway, his pistol trained upon her.

"Close the door and come here," he ordered.

Dejected, she shut the door to the outside world and turned to face him. She walked slowly until he hissed at her to quicken pace. After relieving her of her weapon, Ginson led her into the library and locked them inside once more. To be certain, he dragged a bureau in front of the door as a barricade. Convincing himself it was satisfactory, he moved to the window and checked the grounds for any sign of the pirate's departure. His opinion that Jack intended to leave had changed dramatically.

"This is your fault," Ginson snarled at Kitty, brandishing the pistol.

She kept her distance. "Yeh're insane," she said, shaking her head. "I thought yeh were diff'rent. I realleh thought it didn' matter t' yeh that I wasn' of y' class, an' now I know why. Why would yeh do this? What could drive yeh t' want t' whore someone out f'r yeh own gain?"

He laughed and it jarred her. "Poor stupid Miss Baker. The world is full of crooks trying to keep their head above water. How could you ever understand what it is like to be responsible, to owe so much and keep it all stable? If I am to be ruined I am not likely to waive the opportunity to at least live the rest of my days in comfort. Don't you see, dear Kitty, that you are so very special?" He approached her, his voice suddenly gentle. "You are intelligent and know how to work; you dare to speak above your station; you know how to read – so few do; you dare to fight, and above all, you really are _beautiful_. Under all that childish temper, a masterpiece of a woman stands before me."

Kitty could hardly form words but managed to choke out, "If tha's true t' yeh, why do any of this?"

"Because it is the only way I can have you for myself and save my predicament."

"Then why couldn' yeh have let y'self be poor?"

"I owe too much for that, and it is too late. I have only one test left for you and, if it will discourage your charlatan associate, all the better." He marched forward and grabbed her arm before pushing her onto the library divan. Ginson climbed on top of her.

"No!" Kitty roared. "Get off meh! No!" She struggled, kicked, and beat at him with her fists but received a blow to the head from the butt of his pistol. He slid her dress up her legs and she yelped. Overcome, he held her down and fell to kissing and biting her throat. Kitty screamed.

Then in an instant Ginson stopped. Kitty opened her eyes and looked blearily up at the man pressing a blade against the back of Mr Woldham's neck. Ginson extended his arm over the edge of the divan and dropped the pistol.

"That's it," Jack said in monotone. "Now get up."

Ginson crawled off Kitty and stepped back, putting the divan between him and the intruder. "How did you get in here?"

The pirate sneered. "Same way as you, clever clogs. You just didn' look 'ard enough when you came in."

Still not willing to give up, Ginson jumped backward out of Jack's reach and drew his own sword. "Just who the hell _are _you?"

Jack sent a slightly disappointed frown hurtling in Kitty's direction. "Does no-one cherish the art of breeding frivolous rumour anymore? You're in the country! You're supposed to be drowning in scandal, alleviating the barren tediousness of your waking hours." Kitty blinked at him. He sighed and stepped out from behind the divan, cutlass ready to parry. A certain gleam lit the pirate's eyes. "I'm the charismatic scourge of the Caribbean." He stepped closer, enjoying the deepening look of confusion on Woldham's face. "I stole the White Sword from the Forbidden City; I sacked Nassau port whilst the 'ole place snored in its bed; I scribbled on one of the Vatican's sacred scrolls; I fought off the armada of the East India Trading Company with only _two ships_…" Jack clashed his sword against Ginson's. "Savvy?"

"That's impossible. They're just children's stories."

The pirate smirked. "Miss Baker, if you would be so kind as to inform this suppurate excretion of a man just exactly who he's dealing with?"

Kitty sat, bewildered on the divan. "He's," she answered, "Captain Jack Sparrow."

Jack grinned. "Ta."

He swung out, causing Ginson to leap back. It was not a particularly big room and so a table with a pot plant suffered injury. Ginson regained his poise and lashed back, striking steel once again. Kitty clambered behind the divan out of harm's way. She stood watching with a horrified awe as their blades crashed, chopping thin air in swift, harsh motions, and then it got worse. The thrill of the fight found its true meaning and, grim-faced, the two men became more reckless. They shoved around and barrelled into furniture, jumping and snarling with effort. Ginson shattered an unsuspecting vase; Jack's sword bit into the side of a bookshelf, causing him to need to dodge his opponent's attacks with only his reflexes to save him; he tore it out; two shelves collapsed and he winced. Both won shallow cuts at the arms from the sheer viciousness of the duel. Ginson hissed at a nick to his cheek and staggered back into another bookcase. Crazed with pain, he began snatching hardbacks from their resting places and hurling them at the pirate. Jack batted them aside, gritting his teeth at those he missed and dodged the rest. One flew wide. Kitty gave a cry and fell to the floor.

In the split-second Jack turned his head with concern, Ginson leapt forward and struck the pirate's sword from his hand. He pressed the tip of his own to Jack's chest. "Now I can be the one to go down in history as the man who ended yours." Ginson grinned fervently. He jolted, faintly piercing Sparrow's skin an instant before the gunshot sounded. Dull-eyed, Ginson Woldham crumpled to the library carpet.

Stunned, Jack stared ahead to the trembling figure with the smoking pistol. Kitty's eyes would not leave the body, her face frozen in horror. A cut streamed out from her temple where the book had struck her. Words took an age to form. Jack approached her slowly. She made no move.

"I ki-," she began.

He took the pistol from her. "No. I did." His hands gripped her upper arms and turned her to face him. "J- Kitty, don't think on it. It was me." He left her in order to place the pistol beside Ginson, cringing at the near slip.

"He tried t' -," she mumbled. "'E deserved it, didn' 'e?"

Jack retrieved his sword and looked at her with an unreadable expression. It brought her a little to her senses. Kitty shifted on the spot nervously. Her instincts brought the image of her knife to her but the thought of holding a weapon again made her feel nauseous.

"Are yeh…" She tried again with a less cracked tone. "Are yeh goin' t' kill meh or finish where 'e left off?" The choice was spoken like a futile ultimatum. It sparked something in him. Kitty wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. He stalked across the room so quickly she could not even cry out. What happened next made her voice take the next ship out of the harbour. Jack wrapped his arms about her and held her close, as close as a dearest friend. He pulled back to look her in the eyes but said nothing. She caught her breath at the sadness hidden so far beneath his calm exterior. Did he even know it was there? He brushed a lock of her tousled hair behind her ear before he broke away entirely and began unblocking the door.

"You need to get yourself 'ome," he stated, as though nothing had happened. He did not even look at her. "Get your boots on first. No use walkin' down the road as you are. Someone'll think you're a lunatic or some'ing."

Dumbfounded, Kitty collected her dagger and trudged upstairs. She pulled her boots on in silence, throat feeling raw from the yelling and the grief that would not surface. Once she was vaguely suitable for show, she made her way back down through the house of horrors. She found Jack standing beside the comatose butler.

"What about 'im?" she said quietly.

He shrugged. "'E'll probably get inherited along with the rest of it."

Kitty was incredulous. "I mean -."

"I'll take care of it. You go on."

"I…" said Kitty. "I don' know the way."

"Follow the path past the house. Leads to a road. Follow it straight an' it'll take you alongside town. Can't miss it. You know your way from there."

She nodded. Kitty opened her mouth to speak but nothing was there. She bowed her head and set off. He waited until she had nearly gone out of sight before he looked out of the door.

"Masterpiece of a woman," he whispered, and shut himself inside.

* * *

When Kitty returned to Moore Farm, the family came rushing from all over. Suzanne, clad in a warm blanket, hurried out of the cottage the moment she saw Kitty walking the path. Surrounded by caring voices and embraces of concern, Miss Baker stood amongst the tumult with a traumatized glaze. When at last the talking stopped, Suzanne looked into her face and Kitty burst into tears.


	16. Chapter 16

The weeks that followed Kitty's return were filled with anxiety at the best of times. She retreated further into herself, remaining almost silent throughout meals and other gatherings. Kitty worked, ate and slept, never leaving the farm. A part of her longed to confide in Suzanne but she already regretted telling her what little she had. Miss Moore had been shaken by Sparrow's trickery and at the same time Kitty knew that Suzanne had been envious of her abduction. She was too kind and good tempered to admit it, but the fire of jealousy had probably been the thing that had pulled her through the fever. In light of this, Kitty said no more on the subject, only to assure the family that she had not been harmed. She told no one about her visit to the Woldham estate, every day fearful of the news. When it finally came she was surprised to find no mention of a death but that Mr Woldham and his household had decided to leave the county. As to be expected, this brought about a few questions as to Kitty's wellbeing. With a mild tremor to her voice she had insisted that her fondness for him had not been so great as to cause her much pain. Though the false tale perturbed her, Kitty was relieved that disgrace had not reached the Moore family. She was determined that it would not get another chance.

At the week's end she waited for Suzanne to rise before her, knowing that Miss Moore would leave her to sleep. The moment she had left, Kitty climbed out of bed and began collecting her belongings. She would leave before she brought any more bad luck to this place. Whatever had happened in her earlier life was trying to draw her back in and she would be damned rather than let it culminate at the farm.

The letter had been prepared several days earlier; the one she would leave on Suzanne's bed to explain just enough that 'Jonathan Passer' had not been wicked, that she owed him her life, that she was grateful for everything the family had done for her. She did not belong to the quiet life, no matter how much it had been her craving. She wrote about the necklace, of its origin, and that she was taking it with her to post back to the store from which it had come.

Kitty could not forget what she had done, no matter what the pirate had said. Having to live a lie was too much. She hated feeling powerless and staying here only worsened that notion that she was made of glass. Maybe she could settle somewhere else, find out who she was in her own time. For now she just needed to get away. Sack of clothes and effects clutched in hand, she crept downstairs. Ensuring no one was about, she raided the kitchen for whatever food that would keep the longest and left several coins on the table as payment. Once she had taken everything she deemed necessary, Kitty left the house. She knew someone would probably spot her somewhere between the gate and the lane but her mind was made up. She would run.

To her surprise she made it to the gate.

"'lo, Miss Baker. Back to venturin' out, are we?"

She froze, feeling the adrenaline that prepared for flight. Kitty turned her face to Master Moore. He stood in the field just across the lane, one arm resting on the pitchfork he was using to shift muck into a wheelbarrow.

"Hello, Paul."

"Where you off to? Market?"

Kitty nodded. "Yeh."

"Oh, well then, hurry back. Keep to the path an' you'll be fine."

She gave a small smile and dipped her head. A minute later and she was free, walking faster and faster until Moore Farm was lost from view.

She arrived in town, dodging the cram of the market crowd. A few women spied her and struck up whispering. Though it caused her hands to turn clammy she ignored it and went on her way. Escaping the main throng, she found the more expensive sector where she paused to slip a thin parcel containing the stolen necklace under the door. She hurried on, losing herself in the human sidestream to avoid the complication of being caught. All that was left of this once simple life was to do one last thing.

Kitty reached her destination and stepped into the shop with its both pleasant and pungent smell of fusty parchment. Not allowing her curious eyes to fall upon any inviting shelves, she approached the counter.

"I'd like t' return this book, please, sirrah." She dipped her hand into the sack and pulled out the copy of 'Legends of the Caribbean'. Reaching out to place it on the counter she found her wrist grabbed by a gentleman who had previously been browsing nearby. His eyes bulged wide and a gloved finger tapped furiously at the front cover.

"My word," he cried. "I've seen that thing!" His moustache trembled in a flushed well-fed face. Realising he still had hold of her hand he released, but did not apologise. "It isn't a legend at all," he scoffed at the proprietor. "Just a battered old galleon in need of a good polish, yes! Saw that very ship pulled in to Liverpool Bay, so I did. Terrible condition she was in, too. A great deal of repairs in store for her. Scruffy lot of men for a trading vessel but customs said they had all the right papers. Legend, bah! Whoever wrote that book needs to write a new edition!"

The man was still recounting his tale to the helpless shopkeeper when Kitty quitted the place and began hunting down the nearest coachman to grill for information.

* * *

Suzanne was still awake when the tapping started at her window. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed an overused handkerchief scrunched in her palm. She flinched when the first tap came. It was soft but persistent enough not to be from a stray tree branch. Sitting up, she stared, white-faced, at the man looking back at her. _Jonathan. _She dropped the handkerchief. _Not her Jonathan any more._ He pointed to the handle on the inside. She swallowed and shook her head. The man she thought she had fallen for gave an impatient grimace and cast his eyes at the rest of the room. Suzanne understood. She was not the brightest girl but she could read feelings well enough. He didn't know!

Taking a breath, she slid out of bed and tiptoed to the window. Her hand trembled as it reached for the handle, not only from fear but hot-blooded anger. She pulled the window open and dared to stare him in the eye.

"Where -?" he began.

"She is gone," she whispered hoarsely.

He seemed confused. "Gone? Gone where?"

"I should scream."

"Miss Moore, I don't have time t-."

"Don't you give me that," Suzanne snarled, inner eyelids glistening. "You used me to get to her and I will not let it happen again. You are a rotten brigand and we want nothing more to do with you."

"Heard it all before, love, an' believe me I intend to leave the lot o' you in peace as soon as I get what I came for. Where is Miss Baker?"

Suzanne folded her arms. He gave her a pained look and made an obvious gesture of intending to draw his pistol.

"You will not shoot me," she said, voice quavering. "You're not like that. You're a swine but you are not cold."

"Is that right?" her once Jonathan replied. "Is your life worth the gamble?"

She choked back a sob. "_She _said that you were not bad. I believe her, much as I hate that I do."

He leaned in through the window, gripping the top of the frame. "Suzanne. Where is Catherine?"

His close proximity caused her anguish to boil over. Her hand flew out before she could stop it and struck him across the jaw. She yelped in horror as he toppled back from the sill.

Moments later, Mr Moore burst in, his wife just behind. "Suzanne? What's the matter?"

She whirled. "I –." What had she done? What if he was dead down there, neck broken? It was all her fault! She hadn't meant to! "I…there was a bat," she blurted. "It came in through the window and woke me. I'm sorry. It's gone now."

Her parents relaxed. "All right, close that window and get yourself to bed, there's a good girl," her father said quietly. "We've had more than enough surprises today."

Suzanne nodded and watched them leave, noticing that her mother shared the puffy-eye syndrome in the wake of Kitty's departure. The second the door had closed, she rushed back to the window and peered out, sick to the stomach at what she might see.

"Bloody…'ell." A hand clamped onto the outer ledge. Another followed it before a mess of dreadlocks rose up and his face came into view.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I thought I'd –."

"Entirely…deserved," he gasped, finally managing to haul himself up. Pushing her back, he dropped lightly onto the floorboards. At once his roaming eyes were scanning the room for information. It hurt how little he cared about her compared with his need to find Kitty.

"It's your fault she's gone," she said bitterly. "She was happy here and then you came. We could have been sisters."

He had already found the letter, hunched over it in a manner that suggested the ceiling was too low for him. He nibbled a fingernail as he read and then resumed searching the room. Drawers were pulled open, clothes flung aside. Suzanne could not protest above a whisper. The search stopped when he pulled out a creased coal sketch and held it up for the room's inspection.

"That's the ship from the book," she uttered. "She's always drawn that."

"That's _my _ship." Amazement tinged his tone.

Suzanne stared at him. How could that be? "You knew Kitty, didn't you? You know who she is."

The pirate met her gaze at last. "Kitty Baker does not exist." A sense of urgency came over him. "I know where she's going." He pulled a piece of blue cloth out of his shirt and flicked open a compass at his belt. It snapped shut again and she looked at him as though he were naught but a madman.

"Too far ahead," he muttered. "When is the next carriage out of this place?"

Suzanne blinked in confusion. "They…they don't set off until morning unless they're privately owned."

He winced. "Then I am very sorry, Miss Moore, not only for the trouble I 'ave brought to you an' yours but for the inescapable fact that tomorrow morning there will be one less horse in your stable."

She sniffed. "If you dare hurt her…"

He shrugged. "Pirate."

Suzanne's fist flew; was caught in flight by his hand. He staggered a little against her strength but held his ground. She gave him a startled look now that she saw sincerity staring back.

"I 'ave to find 'er to make sure no one else does."

He was out of the window and running before she had time to process the ambiguous comment. By the time she had found the will to lie in bed once more, she caught the sound of cantering hooves stretching off into the distance. How much darker and how much more lonely her world seemed now that it was merely her and her mind in this room.

_Kitty Baker does not exist, and neither does Lord Jonathan Passer._


	17. Chapter 17

**_A/N_: **_Ladies an' gents, may I once again refer you to the rating. Ta._

* * *

Fingers white with cold, she huddled among a clutter of empty sacks at the back of the warehouse. Kitty had ended up here after her search for the _Black Pearl_. Shivering, she pulled herself deeper into the shadows and let her mind wander hopelessly through the events of her journey.

The little money she had saved had got her most of the way with some left over for the necessities of food. The last few miles were completed on foot and she arrived in Liverpool late afternoon. The speed with which she approached the harbour was foolish, she knew. If the crew of that ship had known her and recognised her there was no telling what might happen. Yet she was certain that it was the key to unlocking whatever was missing in her mind. Why else had it seemed so familiar? Even if it were still crewed by the damned as in the stories, Kitty was determined to seek it out – perhaps from a distance – and learn why it was the ship gave her such a feeling of nostalgia.

Having arrived at the docks, she found the _Black Pearl _nowhere to be seen. Nothing grander than a trade vessel was moored in the harbour. Fishermen hauled in their catches for the close of the day, one or two casting a lazy, lingering eye over her. She also noticed several guards patrolling the area, some pausing to hold brief conversation, their suspicious gazes roaming. Disinclined to be seen loitering, Kitty headed back into town. At a loss for what to do with herself she trudged through the doors of the most low-key tavern she could find.

Settling at a table out of sight of unwanted attention, she examined the change left in her pouch and discovered enough to order a plate of bread and cheese and a mug of water. She stared miserably at what was left, wondering how she would get more. Maybe leaving the Moores had been a mistake.

"'Ere you go, lovely," the barmaid announced, presenting her with a meagre feast. "'Ey, you don't look a sight of the city, do you? You're one of them country folk, aren't you? Well isn't that a sore face you've got on. Chased a pig to town an' lost 'im, 'ave you?"

Kitty managed a weak smile. "M' father's a sailor. I 'oped t' see 'im t'day but I think 'e migh've been waylaid. Docks're quieter than I expected."

"Ah, well that'll be on account of the hoo-hah we had out there earlier. Great fat pirate ship thought she could masquerade as an innocent? They nearly got away with it an' all, had all the papers an' kept the ugliest of the crew out of sight, but a few of them got recognised, didn't they? Then there was talk of a monkey making trouble at the market an' five people swear they killed it, one of them _twice_. Guards came burstin' in everywhere and they saw 'em off quick. D'know why it wasn't sooner. By the description everyone knew it wasn't no ordinary ship."

Nibbling on a crust of bread, Kitty tried not to look too interested. "Did it 'ave a name?"

"All the folk swear blind it was that old ghosty ship, _The Black Pearl_, but rumours are vicious. If it was that old bucket, it was brought in by that villainous old cur, Barbossa. If it had the other captain, mark my words, miss, we'd've known about it. Everyone reckons he's dead now, right shame. Not half as bad as the other blaggards out there. Nah, they say some little doxy tricked him to 'is death. People can't make up their minds whether 'e got swallowed up by a sea monster or if 'e got left in a longboat, but they all agree that a woman got 'im in the end. Silly fool."

Kitty's fingers tightened about her drinking vessel. Masking her need to swallow, she asked, "The _Black Pearl_ had two captains?"

The barmaid smirked. She glanced around in case she was needed and then spoke in a hushed voice. "Most folk'll tell you there's just the one captain – Barbossa, ruthless and honourable as a rat, but any woman of any harbour town who knows anything will tell you of the real captain. He made _quite _the impression whenever 'e was about, or at least after 'e'd gone. Wouldn't harm a soul that didn't get in 'is way, stripped the houses of the rich and left a trail of broken hearts. Handsome scoundrel, often arguable regardin' his effectiveness as a pirate but that wasn't what made 'im popular among the ladies."

"Not Sparrow?" Kitty whispered, but it was loud enough to hear. Nausea filled her innards.

"'Ey, you _'ave _heard of him!"

"Rumours're vicious."

"Well if 'e isn't dead, the poor bugger, and you should 'appen to meet 'im, don't you go doing what all those other silly girls do. He's not one for settling down and there isn't no sense in throwin' your life away pining."

"I don' think he's m' type but thanks all the same." Kitty raised her mug in gratitude for the information. "Good eve, ma'am."

As the barmaid offered a last wry smile before bustling off, Kitty fell to staring at her food. Her stomach growled for it desperately but the fear and confusion in her blood made the idea of eating unbearable.

The _Black Pearl _was Jack Sparrow's ship! The same ship that haunted her thoughts, the one she had chased here. He had confirmed that he had been betrayed but never that it had been a woman, and he had stopped his search upon finding Kitty. The blood drained from her face. She put down her mug. Jack had not given up the search. He had found what he had been seeking, discovered that she could remember nothing and met indecision. Now she had run away and he was sure to think it was from him, that she had been lying all along. He would kill her for certain now.

"Chris'," Kitty choked.

Leaving her plate unfinished she bolted out of the tavern and off through the city. Had she been thinking clearly she would have stashed the food for later. Kitty was not confident she had a 'later'. She was just a wretched, scared girl with no early memories, being hunted by a pirate of legend. Forcing herself to think, Kitty made up her mind to stow away on the morning trade runs. She would hide for the remainder of the night and choose somewhere no one would willingly sleep.

* * *

So here she was, trembling in the dark on the hard boards of a shipping warehouse, as far from the entrances as possible. One hand clutched the tattered, dusty sacks over her form whilst the other clasped tightly around the handle of her quartz knife. That awful object; it seemed to mock her with its own history, with what she could not remember. Had it spilled blood? She had been tempted to throw it away several times but the need to protect herself was too great.

Kitty drifted in and out of sleep, flinching awake at every flutter of a gull's wings. The bell of the waterfront church sounded not far away, chiming midnight. She felt her nerves sharpen with superstitious thoughts. It wasn't that she believed in them, but it did not stop her considering. What better time for a legendary creature to show its face? Stupid, she knew, but sometimes there was a reason for things becoming ironic.

Something shifted nearby. She held her breath, peeling herself upright at a painfully slow rate. Her green eyes surveyed the rafters, caught a disturbance in the drapes of moonlight. Kitty crept to her feet without a sound and waited, listening. The idea of moving from her hiding place seemed foolish but the thought of staying awake all night just because something had fallen out of a crate did not appeal to her either.

Placing her boots softly one after the other, she edged along the aisle of towering crates and peered out at the shady warehouse. A rustling noise echoed from the rows of crates. Hand clammy on her knife, Kitty watched until her body ached from holding position. Light was disturbed several yards away. She raised her knife hand.

A pigeon emerged from the shadows, shuffling lazily before it fluttered off into the rafters again. Heart thumping, Kitty stayed still for a minute longer in case any further sounds followed. The contrast of lighter gloom and total dark remained undisturbed at the ground level. Only the rafters shimmered occasionally, harried by restless feathers.

Stupid and irrational. Even if he _had _found out where she had gone, what would make him search a rank, musty shipping house? Suspicious once again of irony getting the better of her, Kitty spun quickly to confront the alcove from which she had come. Nothing there. Again, she turned fast and silent in case someone had been waiting for her to do just that. The place was empty. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The fear of being outwitted was driving her insane.

_There's no one there. He can't have found you._

Her heart lurched in the instant a figure dropped from the crates behind her. Steel swung around to rest at her neck. Surprise came at the solidity of her body as she was pressed against her attacker's: she was certain it had liquefied. Lips parted in terror, she dropped her knife.

"Please…" she said, at once hating the predictable word. "Make it quick, sirrah. I can' stand t' beh toyed with."

"Kitty." The name crackled on his tongue, parading its fakery. "Was my intention not made clear to you when last we met?"

Confused, she remained tense. "That was before I ran." She swallowed. "An' anyway, yeh intended t' kill meh all along. 'S me yeh've been trackin', en' it? I'm the one betrayed yeh."

His left arm tightened where it barred across her chest, winding her a little. The blade at her throat tilted flat and pressed its cold surface to her flesh.

"'M sorreh, I really am. I don' know why I would've done it. I wouldn' think I was capable of it…'specially considerin' who yeh are. I don' know why I don' remember!"

She gasped in alarm as she was spun around, the sword now resting at the back of her neck. Somehow the weapon seemed insignificant to the dark eyes glaring out beneath the grey-red bandana.

"You don't remember because you wiped your own memory to escape. The deed was not carried out alone but with an accomplice – _Captain _Barbossa." The venom with which he coated the title made her shiver.

Kitty battled against the desire to cry. "Who am I?"

Jack drew his face close to hers and sneered. "Who are _you_, _Miss Baker_? Naught but a guileful, treacherous, mutinous harpy."

"Don' -." Kitty sniffed.

"No more fit to exist in this world than the song of a mermaid," he continued to growl. A tear landed on her cheek before running its course.

"Darlin', you are a masterful thief…" He pressed his forehead to hers, the beads on his bandana digging in to her skin, hat scraping her hairline. "Pirate," he whispered.

Kitty bared her teeth. "Oh get it over with, y' bastard!"

Jack's eyes narrowed. His right arm twisted, flicking the sword back. The hilt connected with her head. First she saw tattered boots, and then she saw nothing.

* * *

Being dead was surprisingly comfortable. That was her first thought before her brain ceased to be muddled and placed her in a middle-class bedroom, dimly illuminated with candles. She was not alone. The cause of her aching head sat in a chair by the door, arms folded, hat tipped over his eyes. Carefully she levered herself higher, contemplating an escape route. She watched him unblinkingly.

"In anticipation of your question, no, I am not under the influence of sleep."

Kitty stopped holding her breath. "Why am I -?"

The hat was pushed up. "Not dead? Come, come, love. You should know me better."

"I don't know yeh. An' if I did, I don' remember."

"Then perhaps that is for the best. It'll be a lot safer for everyone if you don't."

She scowled at him, rubbing her head. "If yeh weren't goin' t' kill meh, why did yeh come after meh? Come t' think of it, how did yeh even _manage _t' find meh?"

"I 'ave my means. As for my reasoning, I needed to stop you from seeking out the _Black Pearl_ and her crew. Not only would they break the spell providing you with your little masquerade but they would confirm that I 'ad not followed the Code when I made my eventual return."

"Eh?"

"Pirate Code, Miss Baker. To regain one's standing, a pirate should take revenge on those committing mutiny against him."

"Bah!" Kitty spat. "Your sort stickin' t' some ol' book'f rules? 'S tripe!"

"_Our _sort, an' we pirates do what we can to make a name for ourselves."

"Not you. You don' need it. _Captain Jack Sparrow_'s already earnt 'imself a place in infamy, 'specially among the womenfolk, I hear."

Jack stood and matched her glower, visible as he stepped into the light. "That as may be, but I do not take betrayal lightly. The first time I was marooned I kept my pistol an' my one shot, an' I put it straight through the heart of the man that did me wrong."

"Was 'e sorry?"

The pirate hesitated. "What?"

"Before yeh killed 'im. Did 'e ask f' forgiveness?"

Jack's moustache twitched. "No."

"Did I?"

He opened his mouth to reply but could not. He sighed and sat at the end of the bed. "It is no longer my wish to harm you. I only ask that you do not look for the _Pearl_. Where has she made port?"

Kitty shrugged. "D'know. She'd gone before I arrived. Authorities shooed 'em off."

"Odd move even for Barbossa. Almost as if he's _trying _to draw attention."

"Jack."

"Mm?"

"If I find out who I am, will yeh have t' kill meh?"

His gaze slid sideways, meeting hers momentarily before dropping. "Let us hope it won't be discovered."

Grief tainted her reply. "Then mebbeh it en't safe me bein' around yeh, y'know, case it slips out?" She jumped out of the bed and faced the door. "Or am I yeh pris'ner now?" Not giving him a chance to answer she marched for the exit. He intercepted her, hands gripping her arms. In a bitter rage she beat her fists against his chest.

"Stop…stop…" he demanded, so calmly she almost wanted to hit him more. "Tempestuous woman," he said through his metal-capped teeth. His hands slid to her upper arms, loosening their grip, holding her back in order to look her in the face. Kitty froze, seeing that the wildness in his eyes had turned to something akin to agony. It faded as soon as he realised it had been showing. Jack grimaced with distaste.

"I will not harm you," he stated with some difficulty.

She felt his thumbs pinch into her shoulders. Warily, she said, "You're hurting me now."

His expression soured. "I will not harm you beyond your capacity to endure."

Kitty made no further attempt to struggle. She studied his face, that gut-wrenchingly beautiful face for a low-life; the unique beard decorated with beads; the painted circles around his eyes – recently renewed; the red welt of an old burn just under his chin. She felt the fingers of his right hand spider into her hair, the rings catching slightly. Her body became undecided about levels of tension. How much control did she have in this situation?

"When she – when I betrayed yeh, you trusted meh, didn't yeh?"

Jack tilted his head in a manner that suggested he was listening. He did not offer confirmation.

"But you've been with dozens, mebbeh hundreds of women," she resumed. "An' not one of 'em, y' tellin' meh, sold you out or got yeh int' trouble?"

"Plenty of 'em, some more than once." His other hand traced down the neckline of her dress.

"Aw'ight, so why'm I diff'rent?"

He frittered the wandering hand away just before it reached the lowest dip. "Because - !" As though startled by his outburst he recollected himself and continued, "Because you were the first to truly surprise me. Amongst other things. Been caught off guard not long ago by one lass, got me killed. I came back, hadn't expected it, no, course not, who would? Point being, love, what you did made me lose everything. Last time, I 'ad the _Pearl_, an' not enough sanity to know what I'd been missing." His hands ceased toying with her for a moment.

"She's your world, en't she?" Acknowledgement seemed better than an apology.

"Aye. Or, at least, a lot of it. Of late my world 'as adjusted to accommodate an increase in capacity." He quickened his speech. "Hide nor hair, back to your earlier asking – you an' I have never _been_, not in the manner implied."

"Tha's very noble of yeh."

"Eh?"

"En't as if I'd know. Yeh could've lied f'r all I c'n tell."

"To what point and purpose?" His fingers alighted at her waist.

Kitty felt a rush of power consume her, nothing supernatural, entirely human. Her shyer nature retreated and watched as she placed a soft hand at his chest. She wanted to grin and laugh, to let go of all the fear and worry that had built up for months. Yet fear was still there, fear that he would not trust her and push her away and she would feel alone again.

_What are yeh doin'? _she asked herself as she edged closer, daring to look him in the eyes. _He's been tryin' t' kill yeh all this time an' yeh're walkin' into 'is arms?_

_Mebbeh I don' care anymore. _She was tired of running from everything, of being someone who didn't fit. Around the Moores and with Woldham she had felt like she had been keeping her true self in a bottle for fear of saying a wrong word and being rejected. Now she was more herself than she ever remembered.

His hands slid to rest at her back. The trapped sensation this brought startled her out of her confidence. Briefly she considered running again. Ignoring his earlier question, she responded with another.

"Yeh knew I was 'er from that first night in the field, so why all the games an' dancin' about? Yeh could've jes' grabbed meh an' run."

"I needed to be sure you 'ad forgotten your old life, that you wouldn't know me." He pulled her closer, making it harder for her to look up.

"But yeh confirmed it, an' still yeh kept comin' back, drivin' meh mad an' dressin' up, makin' me 'ead spin." She skimmed her hand up the side of his neck. "F'r what reas'n could the great Cap'n Sparrow have t' torment meh?" She saw the want in his expression, torn between resisting and otherwise. "Why didn't yeh leave?"

"How _could _I leave?" His tone burst out half broken, half accusation. He seized her shoulders and pushed, walking her backwards until she felt the bed connect with the back of her legs. Another push and she toppled back. Hat hurled across the room, he was above her in seconds, beads, trinkets and dreadlocks dangling over her. She took in a faint breath before he kissed her, fiercely enough to demonstrate his need but not to hurt. The taste overwhelmed her, at first unpleasant, thick and fermented, but the rush it sent through her blood overrode her ability to care.

Jack broke off. "Tell me to stop." The way he purred the words was unfair.

Kitty simply stared at him, eyes wide, lips raw. He scooped her up in his arms and shifted her across the quilt, letting her head rest on the pillows. She wondered if he had planned all of this, expected that she would succumb like any other young woman faced with the option. Again she considered shoving him off and escaping, but it wasn't what she wanted. All that time of pestering, showing up in exasperating situations, the lengths to which he had gone to gain her attention, his stupid smug face, that fearsome and comical face, his ridiculous arm-thrashing run, her terrible, foolish hunter and saviour: she had begun to hate him, because it was the only extreme that would balance.

Kitty lay like a doll, putting up no resistance as he enveloped her in his greying, puffy shirt sleeves. He climbed over her and kissed her again, betraying the fiery stamina he was holding back. Something caught flame inside her and she could no longer remain still. She gave a quiet cry and clawed at his shirt and waistcoat. The action made him grin. His hands cupped her face. His right thumb traced her cheek and settled at her lips. She bit it, just hard enough to make him jump, and wrapped her legs about his waist. Clinging on, she breathed in his liquor-tainted, sweat-musked scent and brought her lips to his. Her fingers slid up to the back of his neck, squeezing handfuls of his cord-like hair. This prompted him to break off the kiss and dip his head to her chest. With one finger he pulled down the neck of her dress to reveal the corset underneath. A gasp escaped her as his lips found the curve of a breast, his beard tickling the spaces between the busking of her undergarment.

Pulling herself closer, Kitty shifted down the bed and arched against him. She kissed him eagerly, grabbing at him with all the desire her wretched heart could offer, her chest tightening with want, tears forming.

And then suddenly she let go, falling flat beneath him. In the instant she had made the discovery of an inexperienced woman, she looked at him in alarm.

"Aw'ight, stop."


End file.
